A Switched Chance
by LunaStorm
Summary: In which Hermione attempts a time-travelling ritual without due preparation and Harry happily goes along for the ride, and both have to cope with living their best friend's life.
1. 1 Waking Up

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine and I make no profit from this, it's just for fun! Oh, and the basic idea for this fic comes from Chapter 16 of "Toil and trouble" by esama – though I'm changing it around a bit of course… it's just that as I was reading the summarized idea I could almost picture it developing movie-like, so I knew I couldn't resist giving it a try!_

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_1. Waking Up._

Harry woke up and knew immediately that something was wrong.

It wasn't the feeling of the world being larger… no, that was expected. They had been trying to go back to their younger selves, after all – aiming specifically at their tenth year of age – so it stood to reason they would be… smaller. It was what they wanted – to have a chance at doing everything over, at doing everything _better_.

The feeling of his body being… strange… was also somewhat expected. _This_ body hadn't yet gone through puberty. Of course it felt different than what he had grown accustomed to in his… previous life.

No… it was something else…

Actually…

It was _everything else!_

The soft mattress. The fluffy pillows (_pillows? plural?)._ The pink (_pink!_) blanket. The sun softly streaming from the window (_a window?_), chasing the warm shadows in the room, highlighting plush toys (_actual plush toys…!_), a beautiful rug, and books, books, books.

He rather liked it, for sure, but…

Since when did he have so many books and… and… plush toys!... in his room? Come to think of it, since when did he have a _room_? Shouldn't he be locked in the cupboard under the stairs?

Had they somehow missed the right time?

But no… he couldn't recall a time – _any time_ – when he had slept in a room like this, be it at the Dursleys' or elsewhere. This sure didn't look like Hogwarts, nor The Burrow, in fact the room looked sort of muggle, which should point to the Dursleys', except that they didn't have such a room (he would know, as he would have had to clean it if they had) and if they did, he wouldn't be sleeping there anyway.

It was all very confusing… as if he had entered an alternate universe!

Harry's sleepy brain froze in its tracks.

Alternate.

Universe.

That was it!

The ritual they had attempted was sketchy at best, more than half of it just guesswork on Hermione's part. She had admitted that maybe her translation of the old text 'borrowed' from Number 12 Grimmauld Place was a tad… rocky.

Room for error, as it were.

And clearly, _something_ hadn't quite worked out, and even if they were back to kids like they wanted, they had ended up in a different dimension instead of their own past. A dimension where he wasn't living with the Dursleys – because in no universe would they change their opinion of him quite this much!

It all fit!

So the only question was… who was he living with?

Suddenly, his heart started beating wildly, as a thought he hadn't entertained since he was five wormed its way into his head, making him soar with a hope he could almost not bear to voice…

His parents!

Could his parents be alive in this dimension? Was he… he swept his tongue over suddenly dry lips… living with them? Was he _home_?

He could hardly dare to think it, but it would make sense… if he wasn't with the Dursleys… and he most certainly wasn't… then he hadn't had a need to go to them and that could only mean…

Hope was growing and blossoming like a beautiful flower in his chest and he felt his eyes go wide at the possibilities…

If they were all right…

If he was living with his own family…

He could see them…

Hug them, even!...

A soft knock rattled on the door, almost making him jump, and derailing his train of thoughts. It was immediately followed by a cheerful male voice calling quietly: "Are you awake, Princess? Your Mum made some pancakes for breakfast today!"

Harry drew in a sharp breath, feeling like he could explode with happiness: Mum! His Mum, she was here, she had made pancakes! For breakfast! His Mum! And that must be his Dad outside the door and – _wait_.

_Wait_.

_Princess?_

The enormous grin that had taken over his face faltered, but he didn't want to – couldn't – let go of the wonderful, wonderful hope, his thoughts scrambled to hold onto it – James Potter had been a prankster, maybe it was a joke, maybe – he desperately tried to keep the breathtaking dream alive but…

But the door was gently opening and revealing a man he vaguely remembered meeting a few times in his other life, at Diagon Alley and King's Cross… a man with brown hair and warm, brown eyes…

"Princess? Hermione? Are you all right?"

Harry sat in shock, staring in undisguised horror at a very worried David Granger.

* * *

Hermione woke up and knew immediately that something was wrong.

She was in the dark, lying on what felt like a hard and rough cot, the air was dusty and smelled of mould and _was that a spider crawling up her leg?_

She ruthlessly suppressed the scream that wanted to be her gut reaction. She couldn't afford it. She couldn't afford to lose her wits! They were at war, and waking up in the dark in what looked suspiciously like a cell probably meant… something not good.

Not. Good. At. All.

Had they been captured?

That seemed likely. She'd been waiting for this horrific eventuality ever since Ron abandoned them, even if she refused to voice it.

Was Harry here with her? Calling out to him seemed risky, she didn't want to attract any notice from their jailers, if there were any nearby. She tried to reach out – noticing with a bit of surprise that she was unfettered – but quickly encountered what felt like walls. Her 'cell' was clearly very small.

She resolutely kept her panic at bay, but she felt like crying.

Where was Harry?

She had to know if he was here… if he was alive at all… There was nothing for it…

She called out to him softly, barely above a whisper: "H-Harry?"

Her voice came out… weird… high pitched and without depth, like that of a child-

Like… that… of… a… child… A child!

The enormity of the situation hit her with breathtaking force.

They had done it.

They had actually managed it.

They were in the past!

Panic gone, she felt elated. She had never before attempted magic with so little preparation, so little research, driven almost entirely by desperation, yet she had succeeded, and not just a spell, but a ritual, she had managed a complex, almost impossible ritual, which she had practically reinvented too!

But – wait. _Had _she succeeded?

She didn't remember ever being in a place like this in her previous life, but then again, that meant little. She might have forgotten. She might have been nearby and the ritual had provoked a minor displacement: she'd had to resign herself to the highly uncertain nature of most variables she had to include in her calculation, so it was likely – expected, even – that she now found herself almost-but-not-quite where she had wanted to be.

In fact, now that her confusion and fear had died down, she realized the place she was in was a fairly typical cupboard under the stairs. There were bottles of detergents, and shelves full of stuff she couldn't identify but felt decidedly Muggle, and the ceiling was low and inclined. Quite possibly, this was the cupboard under the stairs in her own childhood home and she had 'landed' here instead of in her bed upstairs. She didn't recognized it, but it's not like she had ever paid any attention to it, she thought with a chuckle.

It was a more than plausible explanation… but… why was there a cot, then?

Her wonderings were interrupted by a shrill female voice: "Up! Get up! Now!"

Hermione winced. What the… that wasn't a voice she recognized! Where had she ended up? Perhaps some neighbours? But… but why would they expect her – _someone_ – to be _in the cupboard_? Surely…

Someone rapped on the door again. "Up!" the voice screeched. No way…

Hermione heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker.

Some of her neighbours kept someone in the cupboard under the stairs? That was _outrageous!_

The woman was back outside the door. "Are you up yet?" she demanded. Then her tone turned furious as she rapped on the door once more and screeched: "Get a move on, you lazy freak, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

_What?_ What was that woman thinking, ordering her about like… like a house elf! This was intolerable!

Hermione burst out of the cupboard's door, intent on marching to the woman and giving her a piece of her mind, when three simultaneous realizations stopped her dead in her tracks.

One. She'd been in this hallway before, just a few months ago in fact, when they had implemented the Seven Potters plan to get Harry away from… well, from here!

Two. Her body was _totally different_ from what she'd ever been, definitely _male_ (she stopped breathing in horror at the realization) and bundled up in rags few sizes too big, the likes of which she'd only ever seen on… well, on Harry.

Three… the tall, thin, horse-faced woman that had come out of the kitchen and was now staring at him with a mixture of fury and disgust… was _Harry's Aunt_.

_Oh, God_, thought Hermione faintly as all her indignation disappeared in the face of the stark, unbelievable reality that _she – was – Harry_.

A stampede on the stairs warned her of the impending arrival of the other Dursleys, and she quietly closed her eyes, torn between shock and horror.


	2. 2 Surviving Day One 1

_Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, it's just for fun!_

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_2. Surviving day one/1_

Harry went through the day in a haze, feeling as if his brain had stumbled on an unforeseen obstacle and stopped and now would never start working again.

At least, he had so far managed to avoid a crisis of major proportions by the perhaps simplistic solution of telling his… her?... _father_… that he – 'she' – wasn't feeling well. He had had the vague hope that it would excuse any 'strange' behaviour.

He certainly didn't expect it, though, to be the source of what was, to him, a rather surprising commotion.

Dr. Granger had frowned and immediately checked her (her? _him!_) for a fever, which had panicked Harry for a moment, but to his surprise he had felt a… tingle… a somewhat familiar one, shooting through his – her – body, rising his/her temperature. Dr. Granger had gasped and proclaimed that she (_he!_) was running a fever.

He/she had collapsed back onto the bed, unspeakably thankful to his (her?) magic for coming to his/her rescue.

At that point Dr. Granger had started fussing over her (_him!_), making her (_him_) comfortable, adding even more pillows (Harry hadn't ever had that many, not even at Hogwarts!) and trying to decide which medicine to give her (him).

Harry had felt terribly guilty, because, honestly, he _wasn't__ Hermione!_ and probably shouldn't try and take her place, circumstances notwithstanding, but had thoroughly enjoyed the attention, couldn't help it really. It was something he had always craved – and never gotten, for even when he had ended up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, well… he was usually unconscious, and in no shape to appreciate Madam Pomphrey's care!

Then his… _Hermione's__… _mother had come up to see what was wrong and frantically checked her (_his!_) forehead again, and confirmed her husband's conclusions, and discussed medicine and dosage, and fussed some more and finally told her (him) quite sternly that he/she was _not_ going to school that day.

For a moment Harry had been confused – _well__ of __course,__ he__ wasn't__ going,__ he__ was__ ill__ wasn't__ he?_ – and couldn't imagine why Hermione's mother seemed ready for a fight, but then it hit him. This _was_ Hermione, after all. Right.

So he promptly made an effort to protest, thinking fondly that his best friend would have done just that, horrified at the idea of missing classes. But between the fact that he _didn't_ really want to go to school, and the fact that he was still more than half in shock at the entire situation, the attempt had been half-hearted and it had worried Hermione's parents rather badly.

Now they were both convinced that he/she was much worse off than they first thought and were discussing rearranging their appointments so one of them could stay with her (him!) all day.

This wouldn't do!

He desperately needed to sort out his thoughts, figure out what happened, or at least make an educated guess, and decide what to do now – even if he had absolutely no idea of how to do any of the above.

Surprisingly enough, he found that he wasn't too freaked out at finding himself in his best friend's body.

Weird things were all the norm in the wizarding world, after all, especially around him. Plus he sort of remembered Fred and George mentioning a Body Switching Potion, though he couldn't remember if it existed or if they thought it should and were trying to invent it, but the point was, it wasn't unthinkable. And finding himself confused and out of sorts wasn't exactly a new situation for him, so he refused to be too perturbed by it all.

They would find a way out, he was sure.

'They' meaning, naturally, Hermione… who was the absolute genius who could figure out the mess they currently found themselves in, as usual, then think up a plan to get them out of it, as usual, a plan Harry would probably end up modifying with spur-of-the-moments adjustments, yes, but that came later on, when the plan was actually being implemented.

Right now, he needed Hermione.

Except that _he_ was Hermione now…

…and wasn't that a daunting thought?

How did Hermione cope with being the one they always relied on? He winced at the sudden stab of pain he felt when he remembered there wasn't _this_ 'they' anymore – because Ron had left. _Better__ not__ go__ there__…_

Still. The point remained. He needed Hermione, _his_ Hermione. No two options there.

Which meant he needed to contact her… that is, to contact _himself_, assuming that they had simply switched 'landing', so to say – which they most certainly had, because the alternative, that he somehow had come back _alone_, and was now on his own, on top of being _Hermione_, that was an option he couldn't even bear to contemplate.

No, Hermione was – _had __to __be _– in his own body. Which meant at the Dursleys'. Ouch. Suddenly his guilt for enjoying Hermione's parents' concern doubled. He hoped his best friend could forgive him, once they were back to right…

In the meanwhile, her being at the Dursleys meant everything was up to him, for they surely would never let 'the freak' (_sorry__ Hermione__… __I'll__ make __it__ up __to__ you__ somehow__…_) use a phone or go out on his own.

Therefore _he_ would have to be the one to phone, and think up an excuse to speak with – well, _with__ himself_ – or time it just right so 'Harry' would be the one to answer… Or better yet, actually go to Little Whinging and find a way to meet her – that is meet _himself_ – wow, that was starting to give him a headache!

But he couldn't do any of this with a parent hovering around, much as he appreciated their care…

So. First things first – how to send the Grangers to work…

* * *

Hermione never knew how she got through that breakfast.

Her body – _which__ was __Harry's_ – moved jerkily, for her mind definitely wasn't there – _because__ it__ didn't__ belong__ in__ Harry's__ body,__ which__ was,__ you__ know,__ Harry's_ – and even if it had been, she wasn't sure she could have dealt with, well, with what she could only define as _abuse_ – _and__ oh__ God,__ had__ Harry__ really__ grown__ up__ like__ this?__ With__ spiteful__ insults__ thrown__ at__ him __in__ fury,__ and__ those__ three__ gleefully__ making__ him__ feel__ inadequate__ at __every __turn_ – Hermione herself was rattled, and _she_ was rather self-confident, especially after years at Hogwarts!

And that, that _woman_, had screeched and insulted and threatened because Hermione, unused to domestic chores – especially cooking – and uncomfortable in Harry's body – _because __it __was__ Harry's!_ – had been less than graceful while stumbling around the kitchen in the attempt of serving _those__ three_ as she so clearly was expected to do – _as__ Harry__ was__ expected__ to__ do._

She'd even gone so far as to throw the bread basket – _luckily __the __harpy__ didn't__ have __a__ pan __at__ hands, __that__ would__ have__ hurt_ – at her – _Harry's_ – head when she – _Harry's__ body_ – had stumbled on the oversized rags – _God,__ she__ was __going __to __buy__ Harry__ a__ wardrobe __first__ chance __she__ got_ – and nearly overturned the table, which was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents – _greedy__ bugger__ if__ she__ ever __saw__ one,__ pitching__ a __fit o__ver __having __less __presents __than __the __year __before, __and __not __even __enough __brain __to __add __two __to __thirty-seven, __and __what __kind __of __disgusting __parents__ spoiled __their__ son__ so__ indecently__ anyway,__ she__ doubted__ even__ Malfoy__ was__ treated__ like__ this ,__'wanting__ his __money's __worth'__ indeed!_

As she stood in a corner watching _those__ three_ eat – _for__ God __forbid__ they __gave__ her__ – __gave__ Harry__ – __some__ breakfast,__ after__ the__ 'worthless__ freak'__ had__ been__ so__ clumsy__ and__ 'almost __ruined__ poor__ Dudders'__ special __birthday__ breakfast!'_ – she didn't know if the numbness in her –_no,__ Harry's!_ – body and the reeling in her mind were due to the… unexpected… result of the ritual, or the not-entirely-unexpected-but-still-quite-shocking behaviour of Harry's… _no,__ she __couldn't__ bring __herself__ to __call__ them __his__ 'family'._

She didn't know – she didn't know what had gone wrong, she didn't know where Harry was, she didn't know how to fix this mess, she didn't know how to cope with _them_, she didn't know how _Harry_ had, she didn't know how to contact him, she didn't know what to do…

She just didn't know, period.

And Hermione Jean Granger had never dealt well with _not__ knowing_, and being stuck in her best friend's body – _which __belonged __to__ Harry__ and__ she__ was__ starting__ to__ really __freak__ out __about__ this!_ – couldn't change this fact.

So she just stood there in a corner of a kitchen that was as normal as any similar ones in horror movies and tried to _think_, and make sense of things, and come up with a plan, as she watched Dudley unwrap a new computer – _probably__ only__ going __to __play__ silly__ videogames,__ the __dumb __idiot,__ oh __if_ she _could__ have__ gotten__ a __computer__ at __Hogwarts__…__!_ – a television – _didn't__ they__ already __have__ one?_ – and a racing bike – _wait.__ A__ racing __bike?__ What__ was__ Ball__ of __Lard__ wanting __a __racing__ bike__ for?__ –_ and a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games – _knew__ it_ – and a video recorder – _were__ the__ present__s stopping__ any time __today?_

She tried to list in her mind everything she needed to do to, first of all, find Harry – _was__ he __in __her __body? __That __seemed __plausible, __and __much __better __than__ the __alternative __of __her __being __all __alone__ in__ this_ – and make contact with him, and she steadfastly ignored everyone else in the house.

She only snapped back to attention when _that __woman_ came back from the telephone, just as her fat spoilt son was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch – _a__ gold __wristwatch __to __an __eleven __years __old!_ – looking both angry and worried.

Hermione silently fumed as _they_ spoke about her – _about__ Harry_ – as though he wasn't there – or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug. She didn't dare interrupt, however, for it seemed there was no-one available to 'baby-sit' him – _her_ – which suited her quite well, if _they_ would just leave her – _leave __Harry_ – at home alone she would have the time to put her tentative plans into motion – _telephoning __to __her __home, __for __a __start, __in __the __hope __Harry __would __indeed __be__ there __like __she __was __here._

Alas… no such luck. _They_ seemed utterly convinced that she – _Harry_ – would blow up the house – _seriously!_ – if he were left there. And the untimely arrival of a scrawny boy with a face like a rat, who apparently was Dudley's best friend – _suits __the __both __of __them, __nasty __bullies__…_ – put a sudden stop to Dinky Duddydums' – _she__ nearly__ choked__ on__ her__ silent__ laughter__ at__ that__ one_ – Worst Fake Tantrum Ever and forced _them_ into a decision that had _that__ woman_ looking as though she'd just swallowed a lemon and _her__ whale__ of __a __husband_ looking furiously at her – _at__ Harry_ – as though he'd – _she'd_ – planned this.

'This' being, a visit to the zoo – _all__ together __like__ a__ nice__ happy__ family,__ a__ turn__ of__ words__ that__ made__ her__ want__ to__ gag__ even__ as__ she__ spat__ it__ with __vicious__ sarcasm __in__ he r__mind._

So… off to the zoo. _Joy._

Maybe she would manage to escape and find a public phone and make something useful of this day anyway.

Preferably before the careful walls she was erecting in her mind to _avoid __thinking __the __situation__ through_ came crashing down and she crumbled for good!


	3. 3 Surviving Day One 2

_Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, it's just for fun!_

* * *

_A/N: This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write. Of course, the huge calculus test Real Life threw at me might have had something to do with my lack of concentration… _

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_3. Surviving day one/2_

Staring morosely up at the ceiling over Hermione's bed – which, weirdly enough he thought, was peppered with small fluorescent stars that would probably glow in the dark – Harry admitted ruefully that he should have known better than to try and sway a Granger woman on a matter she had made her mind up about.

Hermione was scary enough when she had decided something _had to be done _or_ not done_ (House-elves Liberation Movements came to mind), but her mother was ten times worse.

Right now, she was quite determined not to leave her ill daughter home alone, therefore her ill daughter would not be left home alone!

And she was so terribly _logical_ about it. She didn't shout or anything, simply listed very calmly all of the good reason to have an adult around while suffering the flu: all of the good reason Harry couldn't realistically object to. Not once did she even mention what Harry had a strong suspicion was the real reason she wanted someone to watch over her daughter: namely, that she thought he/she wished to sneak to school despite the fever. He had to admit, it was something his Hermione would probably have attempted, though he himself couldn't decide whether it was hilarious or just sad.

Still, the end result was the same: he would not be left on his own. Whatever argument Harry might try, Hermione's Mum would have none of it, and the more he tried to press his point, the more persistent she became! Harry was really loathe to admit that he was no match for Dr. Granger, but the thinning of her lips was too much like her daughter to let him hope he might win this argument (or any argument, actually). _And here I thought Hermione had learned that from McGonagall…_

Of course, Harry's attempts at countering her arguments had been anything _but _logical. Partly because, well, logic had never been his strong point… and partly because of the headache pounding in his/her head – which he could really have done without. Apparently, his/her magic was very obliging in providing a convincing evidence of flu, but getting rid of said evidence wasn't nearly as easy. So 'pretending to be ill' was now 'actually being ill'. It sure didn't help with thinking straight._ I'm trapped in my best friend's body, and the body won't cooperate. Just – great!_

In the end, it had been agreed – over Harry's head, of course - that Hermione's Dad – whose name, he managed to gather, was David – would take a day off to look after her/him and if she/he wasn't better the following day, Hermione's Mum – who was, apparently, called Julia – would take her turn staying at home.

And all the while Harry, having been glared into submission by an adult, more refined and apparently multi-use version of Hermione's _do-your-homework_-_now_ Look, was staring at the ceiling. And the stars on the ceiling. And feeling sorry for himself, while Hermione's parents plotted what to his reckoning amounted to a dastardly plan to make sure he would not have the time or occasion to contact his Hermione any time this century!

A few hours later, in front of a light lunch, Harry reflected that Life had a strange way of always throwing him down guilt trips.

He had been prepared to keep wallowing in self-pity the whole day. After all, he hadn't gotten his way, he hadn't gotten his wish of solitude, he hadn't been able to do any soul-searching, thought-ordering, clever-plan-making, he hadn't been able to do _anything_ about his highly problematic situation! Worse of all, he was still on his own with no Hermione on sight! It should have been a horrible morning!

He wished he could say it had been terrible, he really did. But the truth… the truth was, it had been one of the best mornings of his life.

David Granger had brought upstairs deliciously cool apple juice in big, colourful glasses. He had adjusted the curtains so the room was cast in half-light, neither too dim nor in full sunlight. He had made sure to help his 'daughter' take the agreed-upon pills to reduce 'her' fever. He had fussed over 'her' until he was assured that 'she' was as comfortable as 'her' illness would allow.

Harry was thankful that the redness in his/her cheeks was taken as feverish flush rather than the embarrassed blush it really was. He had no idea how to deal with the coddling. It was… disconcerting to be the central focus of a grown-up like this, the _only_ concern of someone. And… he couldn't help loving every minute of it.

He wondered if being miserable out of guilt for taking all this away from Hermione (_temporarily only!_ he reminded himself sternly) could be considered punishment enough for how much he was enjoying it.

Then…

Then David Granger took down a well-worn book from a nearby shelf, commenting about old favourites being needed in time of distress, and with a delighted smile had started reading aloud: "In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit…"

And Harry forgot everything, too captivated by the enthralling tale, and the engaging characters, and Dr. Granger's warm voice, and the sheer, delicious novelty of being read to, to really care about anything else just then, important or not.

Or to remember to be properly upset at the lack of solitude and missed opportunities.

As it turned out, his 'bad luck' wasn't to last though, and he went back to brood and worry and plot right after lunch, for early afternoon found David Granger dozing on an armchair, his breath almost but not entirely forming light snores. Not ten minutes later, Harry was quietly creeping downstairs, familiarizing himself with Hermione's body as he tried to reach the telephone and make the most of this chance.

Neither his headache nor the fuzzy feeling of being feverish had disappeared yet, so he wasn't surprised that a small voice in his mind – the sensible, level-headed, Hermione-like Voice of Reason – was pointing out what a bad idea it was to try and contact the Dursleys in his state, and without a proper plan.

Predictably, he chose to ignore it, shushing it with a stern thought that he _did_ have a plan. Which was true, sort of: he had kind of vaguely put together an idea that _might_ work, with a lot of luck, but nevertheless had several gaping holes.

He was going to claim that he was a representative from a firm producing toys, conducting a survey among the children of Surrey, and offering a prize he knew Dudley would want if 'a' child would answer a few questions. Hopefully, Aunt Petunia wouldn't slam the phone down on his first words. Hopefully, she wouldn't question his girl-like voice. Hopefully, Dudley would hear what it was about and pitch a fit to get the prize, but then not want to answer boring questions, thus dumping the 'chore' on Harry. Hopefully, Hermione would be smart enough to play along. Hopefully…

Had he been feeling better, he would have realized how sketchy the idea was, but as it is, he was already dialling the once-familiar number.

The phone rang….

_Please let them fall for it…_

…and rang…

_Please don't let Dr. Granger wake up yet…_

…and rang…

_Please let Hermione be there…_

…and rang…

_Please let her be all right…_

…and rang…

_Where are they, surely Aunt Petunia should have answered by now…_

…and rang…

_What's that noise? Is Dr. Granger waking up?_

…and rang…

_Where the hell are they?_

Impatiently fiddling with the scraps of paper on the small table supporting the telephone, Harry's eyes fell on a calendar. _23rd of June 1991… well at least I know for sure when we are…_

The phone was still ringing.

_What's taking them so long? He's bound to wake up at this rate… _

_How am I going to explain if he comes down? _

_Why the fuck don't they answer the bloody phone?_

_Wait… 23rd of June… it's Dudley's birthday…_

He froze. _Fuck!_ Dudley's birthday. Dudley's _eleventh_ birthday. They were at the bloody zoo! Damn!

_Of all the days…_

Resigned, he put the phone down and made his way upstairs again.

What was he to do now?

The zoo episode had been a bloody disaster! He'd been locked in his cupboard for longer than he cared to remember! How was he going to contact Hermione if she was locked in the ruddy cupboard?

He was startled by a worried David Granger coming out of Hermione's bedroom, but luckily he/she was already upstairs and managed to mumble something convincing about toilet. Hermione's Dad relaxed immediately, then suggested with a warm smile that they watch a movie together, since 'she' looked a bit better.

Harry felt cherished and warmed and happy and horribly guilty when the man hugged him/her lightly and then scooped her/him in his arms to carry her/him downstairs.

His thoughts were whirling in his mind.

What was he to do now? How was he going to contact Hermione? What if he couldn't get in touch with her before Hogwarts? How was she going to cope with the Dursleys? Would the Grangers notice he wasn't their daughter? What could he do? How…? What…?

As the opening credits of _Star Wars_ – apparently, another 'old favourite' of both Hermione and her Dad – appeared on the screen and he/she snuggled contentedly with her (_Hermione's!_) father, he very determinedly ignored the seductive voice at the back of his mind – the drawling one he had labelled his Inner Slytherin – which was slyly pointing out that it was no fault of his if they had come back on this day of all days, and there really was nothing he could do right now, so maybe, maybe he could just enjoy Hermione's parents for a while…

* * *

Sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo, trying not to attract attention, Hermione mused on the 'warning' _that whale_ had given her – _given Harry_. 'Funny business', she guessed, meant accidental magic. Had Harry been punished every time his magic had manifested? Every minute spent with _those three_ had Hermione's worry for her best friend increasing – _and how had she never suspected? Well she had, in part, but not to this extent… Had Ron…?_ But she shied away from that thought: Ron's abandonment still hurt.

She tried for a moment to distract herself from the painful line of thought by listening to _that whale_ complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank and Harry – _good lord, 'repetitive' doesn't even cover it… _– but she was soon back to her musings, only vaguely registering the new theme of _that whale's _complaints, motorbikes.

She needed to find Harry, make contact with him somehow. The sooner the better!

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families, which made it relatively easy to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys. 'Out of sight, out of mind', she hoped.

She remembered both her parents' telephone number and that of their practice, so if she could get her hands on a phone, she could either talk to Harry directly (assuming he was in her body, of course, but she was reasonably sure he was) or at least leave a message that he would hopefully understand.

She tried to think the possibilities through, as she out of habit read every sign near the tanks and cages, absently memorizing a few things she didn't already know about the animals.

She would have to word it just right, but she thought she could get her mother to pass it on, perhaps pretending she… _he _was a classmate of Hermione's. That meant she needed to find a phone, for she was rather convinced that it would be next to impossible to use the one at the Dursleys. Same for the one at whatever school Harry attended, they don't just let children call whoever they want, after all. So a public phone here at the zoo was likely her best chance for Merlin knew how long…

Sadly, by lunchtime she hadn't managed to locate one and had no choice but to join the Dursleys in the zoo restaurant, where she barely kept her composure as she was treated to _another_ Dudley-tantrum since, apparently, Ball of Lard's knickerbockers glory wasn't big enough.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone, and as soon as she took two steps in Hermione froze, hit by a thought that chased all others from her mind.

_Parseltongue._

Harry could talk to snakes. Could she? Meaning… she as she was now, in Harry's body? Nobody knew much about Parseltongue… was it something in the blood, like the Slytherins thought? In that case she should be able to use the weird language now, seeing as she had Harry's blood…

Or not? Harry wasn't of Slytherin line, at least not as far as they knew, which seemed to argue against the importance of blood…

Maybe it was something in the magic? But then… the question became, did she have her own magic, or Harry's? Was magic linked to the body or the mind? She couldn't remember ever reading anything about it… the Wizarding World as a whole didn't seem to keen to figure out how magic worked after all.

Or at least they weren't interested in the _whys_.

They were content with visible effects and a good deal of prejudice, sometimes disguised as 'tradition'.

Maybe she could try and develop a 'Science of Magic' when this mess with switched bodies and time meddling and let's not forget the war was over…

In the meanwhile, she was left wondering about her current situation, and Parseltongue.

She closed her eyes and tried to listen to the hissing sounds around her.

From what she remembered, Harry had usually been able to make out words somewhat instinctually. Yet she could not – all she understood were the somewhat hushed human conversations around her, and the not so hushed whining of Harry's cousin, who had quickly found the largest snake in the place among the various huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons but was now apparently disappointed that the glistening brown coils, that could have easily wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin, wouldn't budge.

She snorted. The poor snake was clearly fast asleep and rapping the glass smartly with their knuckles wasn't likely to change this.

She moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wondered if it was the one Harry had accidentally set on his cousin in the first timeline. She peered at the little sign next to the glass. Yep. _Boa Constrictor, Brazil_. It was probably the one.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with hers… _with Harry's_.

She felt her heart race. This was it. It was going to talk to her. She was finally going to know what it was like. She tried to contain her excitement, but it wasn't easy. She had wondered so often, and been hopelessly jealous that Harry could have such an experience but she couldn't, and now she was going to know what it was like to talk to a snake!

Then, just as slowly, the snake lowered itself again and went back to sleep.

Hermione bit her (_Harry's_) lip hard and valiantly fought back the disappointment. Maybe this wasn't _the_ snake, maybe it was another one, maybe this one was just too sleepy…

But even as she moved quickly to the next tank, something told her it wouldn't work. The hissing sounds would remain just that – sounds, incomprehensible, out of her reach.

She wasn't a Parselspeaker.

She moved through the entire reptile house – she was nothing but thorough in her research, after all – and tried hard to listen to the various snakes but to no avail.

She determinedly blinked away the silly tears of disappointment. This was ridiculous. She had always known she would not get any knowledge connected with that particular gift, unless Harry decided to share. She shouldn't have expected – she shouldn't have let herself hope.

And, she reminded herself, it _was_ good data. She now knew without a doubt that the gift of Parseltongue was not connected to the body. So obviously it wasn't passed down through blood – and wouldn't the Pureblood Supremacists have a fit at that?

But it was a documented fact that the ability was inherited, so perhaps… perhaps it went down through magic?

That would suggest a genetical basis for magic, but how would Muggleborns come about in that case? Squibs she could explain as 'defective', as horrible as that sounded, people whose genes for 'magic' were somehow missing or blocked or something. But Muggleborns?

Were all humans, including Muggles, equipped with 'magic' genes, perhaps, but only some had them active? Was it something like dominant/submissive genes? This bore consideration…

Or perhaps… perhaps it wasn't magic after all. If, as she had come to think in her previous life, magic did not have a genetical explanation, then it couldn't be inherited, and a gift like Parseltongue wouldn't be linked to magic. But then what? It clearly wasn't blood…

The mind? Or perhaps the soul? But she knew next to nothing about the soul. She wasn't even sure how to define such a thing. She hadn't had a religious education, and her philosophical studies had taken back seat to the Hogwarts curriculum, obviously. She really needed some good books on the topic, it was frustrating to be so lost. But she would probably have to go the Muggle route, Soul Magic was a Forbidden Art…

She kept herself entertained with her musings all through the rest of the day and the drive back and the meagre dinner of cold bread and cheese Harry's aunt threw at her/him. By the time she/he was sent to the cupboard for the night, she had managed to overcome the disappointment completely and almost wished for an opportunity to test Harry's skill with snakes while he was in her body…

It was at this point in her contemplations that she rather suddenly realized she had completely forgot about contacting her parents and had probably missed her only chance at finding a public phone!

She collapsed groaning on the cot.

_Great going, Granger. Brilliant. Now what?_

* * *

_A/N: In case someone had missed it, the incipit David Granger reads aloud is, of course, taken from J. R. R. Tolkien's 'The Hobbit'._


	4. 4 A bit of calm before

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and a few grace notes on the stuff I'm borrowing, but anyway I make no profit from this. Have fun finding all of the quotes/cameos and guessing what belongs to whom!_

* * *

_A/N: Ok, I'm going with my own idea on how muggleborns prospective students are contacted by the Hogwarts staff in this chapter and the next, because I haven't managed to find anything conclusive in canon. So in this story, the Deputy Headmistress makes the rounds at the beginning of July, one month before the deadline for inscription. The 'contacted on their eleventh birthday' thing never rang true to me: for one, the only actual canon episodes of a first Hogwarts letter are Harry's in PS and Ginny's in CoS, and neither arrive on their birthdays. Add to that, the Ministry is paranoid about keeping magic a secret, they wouldn't want to have children living in a muggle neighbourhood in-the-know but not under Hogwarts' control for an entire year (I'm thinking Hermione here, whose birthday is in September…), especially since on the first ride to the school Hermione states she has 'tried a few simple spells', which argues toward the no-underage-magic rule only applying after the first year of magical education. They wouldn't want more than a month or two of excitable eleven year olds armed with wands, loose in the muggle world, I don't think._

_A… Switched Chance_

_4. A bit of calm before…_

A week had gone by and Harry had discovered a number of interesting things.

Like the fact that Star Wars was the Best Movie Ever.

It was great. Spectacular. Amazing. And it was startling how much he and Luke had in common!

Both had lived with an aunt and uncle who had tried to keep them from their heritage, then been 'rescued' by a 'wizard' and taken to a whole new world – and the 'wizard' in question had the annoying tendency of keeping secrets. _'A certain point of view' my arse, Obi-Wan!_ Oh yes, Harry knew all too well how that felt, courtesy of one Albus Dumbledore.  
And in the end, both have to face their very personal Dark Lord and save the world. Well – Harry hadn't gotten to that part yet, of course, but he would. Someday. So it counted, right?

Though the idea of being related to Voldemort made him ill. Literally; he'd been physically sick when the thought had occurred to him after watching _The_ _Empire Strikes Back_, Hermione's parents had thought he was having a relapse of the flu and made him stay home another day.  
Plus he didn't think _his_ (former) best friend was suited to the part of Han Solo. Han Solo had had never abandoned those who counted on him like Ron had.  
Hermione, on the other hand, could definitely be Leia. She fit the role perfectly. And Harry would love to have her as a sister for real.  
_Now who could be Yoda, I wonder?_

He'd lain in bed one whole night trying to work out who could be who and listing all of the things his universe had in common with Luke's. Well, that and daydreaming about light sabers. They were sooooo cooool! Why hadn't wizards figured out a way to create them, surely magic could manage it? Oh, right, technology was beneath the backward reactionaries known as magic users. But damn! Light sabers were _awesome_!

He'd lost himself in fantasies of Old Voldie's face if Harry arrived at one of their show-downs with one in hand. He could picture the crazy duel – the distinctive hum of his blade filling the atmosphere – rising in pitch and volume as he swings the blade rapidly through the air – his blue lightsaber deflecting red and purple and green curses as if they were blaster bolts – Voldemort's shock – he'd probably try one of his speeches to undermine Harry's confidence – Vader did that a lot too, maybe it was a Dark Lord thing – finally bringing the blade into contact with Snake Face, the loud crackle drowned in that bastard's cries…

He'd fallen asleep with a smile on his face.

He had found out other things too – like the fact that, as much as he had hated hiding under the bedcovers to read late at night in his previous life, it was instead wonderful and thrilling when the book in question wasn't _History of Magic_, but rather the tale of a weird, lovable guy who left his home (which Harry was totally going to build an exact replica of for himself after the war, it was just too perfect) to go help some dwarves getting back their gold, that was stolen by a dragon in the days of old.

Especially when one could relate heartily to some of the adventures – like meeting the dragon up close, or running from a bunch of huge spiders. He wondered if he would get a chance to sing _Old fat spider_ to Aragog and his ilk… that would be brilliant. Suicidal, but brilliant.

He had also, somewhat to his surprise, discovered that being a girl was… different, but not altogether unpleasant. It had taken him a while to adjust to the lack of the 'equipment' he was used to, but it didn't bother him too much, all in all. He even found himself wondering what it would be like to have tits, as Hermione's body was still that of a child. He wasn't sure if it was healthy to be more curious about it all than grossed out, as he would have expected to be had he ever thought of this before.

The hair, however, was a bother. He wondered more and more often if Hermione would be upset were he to cut it short. It was a bloody nuisance. His own had been always messy, true, but he only remembered to be bothered by it on special occasions (like the audience at the Ministry). Most of the time, he didn't even notice it was there. Hermione's bushy curls, on the other hand, not only were completely unmanageable, but they made sure to remind him of the fact on a regular basis. Locks kept falling over his/her eyes or getting tangled in just about everything – his/her fingers, the pen, the hem of the clothes, the edge of the wardrobe door! He was seriously considering shaving it all away!

He had furthermore discovered, once he'd been deemed healthy again and gone back to school, that bullies were the same everywhere, and if the mocking cries of 'freak' and 'scum' he was used to had become the more… tame… 'teacher's pet' and 'know-it-all', the cruel tone made them just as hurtful.

The only difference was that his usual method of dealing, namely running away, was made impractical by Hermione's body being out of shape – something he vowed to remedy before giving it back. A slight surprise was finding that the teachers would regularly intervene and help him/her out, though: in Harry's life they never had. Apparently being a favourite of the figures in authority truly was useful.

Whether he/she would remain a favourite for long was debatable, however, because he had also found out that he had absolutely _no clue_ about what Hermione had been studying at this point in her life. Already he'd had to play up his/her illness to explain away his utter confusion at things he/she was apparently supposed to know, even excel at. Though honestly! Was 'meiosis' even in the standard primary school programs? He certainly didn't remember ever covering it in muggle school! He just hoped Hermione would forgive him for ruining her perfect grades, in light of her going to Hogwarts soon…

School-related mishaps apart, though, he had so far managed to fool everybody into thinking he actually _was_ Hermione; something that left him both amazed and vaguely proud. He'd expected to screw up a lot sooner.

Instead, he'd sort of adjusted to his best friend's life and even discovered little things about Hermione's parents (like her mother's fondness for Jane Austen and her odd reluctance to wear a skirt, and David Granger's not-really-secret-but-not-acknowledged-either passion for the Creedence) and about Hermione herself (like the fact that she wasn't allowed in the kitchen as she could, apparently, burn even coffee – which explained a lot about their meagre meals while on the run – and the small 'secret' drawer in her desk – though he'd refrained from reading the pink diary he'd found there, out of respect for his friend, and fear for his own health were she to know he had pried).

He'd also gamely given a try at Hermione's choir class, and discovered she had a very nice voice, though the fact that he/she had seemingly forgotten all the lyrics overnight had him/her stuttering and the instructor both puzzled and concerned.

He'd wondered if he could get away with throwing a tantrum about his clothes being 'babyish' and thus avoid wearing so much _pink_, then decided it wasn't worth risking his cover and gone back to the tried and true 'pretending-not-to-know-what-you're-wearing' method that he had perfected because of Dudley's cast offs.

Oh, and he had discovered an interest in making jewellery using troll beads – of all things. Hermione had a complete set. Maybe if he took Runes he could pass it off as creating amulets once he was back to his own body, that should make it less 'girly'…

...

What he _hadn't_ done, was contacting Hermione.

Or even attempting to.

Actually he hadn't even come up with a viable plan for it.

And he wasn't exactly concentrating on the problem either…

He kept finding excuses – Hermione was likely still in punishment for the zoo incident… he might even make things worse for her; the Dursleys never liked 'Harry' to have friends, or any contacts really… there was no guarantee the Dursleys would allow 'Harry' anywhere near the phone… talking on the phone wouldn't be enough anyway, they would have to meet, he'd better wait until he had a workable plan for a face to face… he had no idea how to explain to the Grangers why their unsociable daughter (who never made a friend before, much less a male one) suddenly wanted to invite over a kid from another region of England entirely, whom she'd had no way of meeting before now, claiming he was her 'best friend'… what if the worst had come to pass and the 'Harry' at the Dursleys' was actually his past self rather than his Hermione, he wouldn't know how to deal with _that_ scenario, the boy didn't even know of magic yet…

…

…

And he liked Hermione's life immensely and it felt so good not to be Harry Bloody Potter for once and not to hear disparaging comments about 'freakiness' and mutterings down the streets or gossip in the hallways and he loved spending time with David and Julia even if it was like cheating them and he didn't want to loose this wonderful dream-like existence and he didn't want to give Hermione a chance to tell him she'd already figured out how to switch them back ('cos she totally could have, she was brilliant like that) and he was ashamed at himself but nonetheless sort of kind of sometimes possibly hoped she _wouldn't_ find a way at least not too soon…

But this, this he didn't voice in his inner musing, didn't admit even to himself.

A week had gone by and Harry was letting it go; but today, July 1st, 1991, he was in for a shock.

For the doorbell rang during breakfast, and when he/she went to open the door, expecting the postman, he/she found him/herself face to face with none other than Minerva McGonagall.

* * *

Hermione was bored. Bored, bored, bored. _And_ she was worried. More and more worried with each passing day; nay, with each passing _hour._

Bored and worried – awful combination, that.

She was bored because, well, there wasn't much to do in Harry's life, not at this stage at least.

_Those three_ continued to be unbearable (Petunia Dursley in particular was really getting on Hermione's nerves), she/he was still expected to do a completely unreasonable amount of chores and was forced to skip dinner more often than she cared to admit because she couldn't manage all of it, Ball of Lard had knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches the very first time out on his racing bike and seemed now intent on breaking his new video camera and possibly crashing his remote control airplane before the summer holidays started.

Same old, same old.

It was hard to think, she idly mused, that the boy who could make a school year as exciting as an Indiana Jones Adventure without even really trying had grown up in such a boring way.

She was worried, on the other hand, because a week had gone by and she hadn't heard from 'her' Harry.

She had been constantly on the look-out for a chance to contact him herself, but so far she'd had no luck.

The only time she/he wasn't under the spiteful but ever watchful eyes of Petunia was at night, and while she had no trouble bypassing the locks _that whale_ took so pride in (Fred and George would be so proud) it wasn't worth it. The Dursleys would go spare – probably punish him/her, and maybe wise up to her skills, which was to be avoided at all costs. And anyway she doubted her parents would appreciate the late night call, especially since she had no way to explain its necessity.

So she was left in the cupboard under the stairs to fret and worry and think up horrible possibilities.

Night after night she'd made up scenarios in which she'd accidentally killed her best friend, erasing him from the space-time continuum, and she now had to face the terrifying burden of the world's destiny resting on her shoulders with no hope of ever seeing him again.

Or maybe he _had_ made it, but upon finding himself in her body he'd freaked out, and then her parents had thought she/he was going mad, schizophrenic or something, and they'd hauled her/him to the nearest hospital to get her/him intensive therapy.

Or he'd lost his memories of their previous life and now was getting therapy for memory loss with no one having a clue she/he wasn't the real Hermione Granger.

Or… or maybe, maybe their arrival in the past had been marked by a huge magic blast, only her own had been absorbed by the Blood Wards (whose functioning was anything but clear in her mind) and thus gone unnoticed but Harry-in-her-body had not been so lucky and Ministry agents had shown up to investigate and now, now the Unspeakables were experimenting on him/her and they'd keep him/her locked in the Department of Mysteries forever and she'd never see him again!

During the day it was easier to keep things in perspective and not let her fantasy run away with haunting prospects bordering absurdity. In the morning light, she admitted to herself that Harry was probably just overwhelmed by the situation and coping the best he could – much like she herself was doing – and trying to figure out what had happened and waiting to have a better grasp on the goings on before risking attracting unwanted attention.

Or maybe he simply hadn't found an occasion to contact her without arousing suspicion.

Or he might even be trying to protect her from some retaliation on the Dursleys' part – knowing Harry, it was a distinct possibility.

But while this reasoning helped keep the worry at bay, it did nothing for the boredom, nor for the rising frustration at being unable to do _anything_ remotely useful.

School offered no relief – and wasn't that a strange feeling? Never before had school been something to fear and hate for her. Sure she'd had her share of bullies, especially in muggle school, but at least she'd had trustworthy teachers. Teachers had always been dependable helpers for her, admired guides, her defenders and protectors.

Few days in Harry's life had cured her of such reliance, quickly disabusing her of any notion of adult usefulness. She now understood her best friend's distrust of authority figure and disrespect much better. And found herself agreeing wholeheartedly.

If she/he answered a question correctly, she was accused of cheating and declared a no-good lying little horror. If she/he got it wrong (aside from the fact that it turned her stomach) she/he was proclaimed a lazy, worthless layabout, too stupid to do anything with her/his life. She couldn't believe it.

Everybody seemed to buy into the Dursleys' lies and consider Harry some sort of deranged criminal – at ten! It was ridiculous to the point that when Ball of Lard and his Piggy Flunkies beat him/her up _she/he_ was the one who got reprimanded and sometimes punished for 'bothering' them and/or 'provoking' them.

She realized now how Harry had put up with Snape's abuse and the periodical shunning due to idiotic rumours with barely a complaint – he was used to it.

She wished she didn't know. It was hurtful in a way she had not anticipated, because granted, she'd been attacked before, even viciously at times, but it had always been _enemies_ who did it. People on opposing sides of a conflict or rivals or actual criminals. Never before had she been harassed by the people who were supposed to be on her side, to protect her and care for her.

It made her sad and feeling exposed and moreover, it made her _angry_.

She really didn't know what she would do if another contemptible 'adult' palmed her off with the 'you-ungrateful-brat-you-should-be-thankful-your-good-upstanding-relatives-took-you-in' speech. Serious maiming was a distinct possibility.

Especially since her/his magic seemed to be more… temperamental, than what she was used to. And more powerful. _Definitely_ more powerful! Heavens, if Harry had all _this_ at his disposal at all times…!

This half-joking consideration, however, was the source of various concerns. Of which the fact that she'd had to consciously refrain from blasting Ball of Lard and Flunkies to hell every time they hurt him/her, was only a minor one.

More pressing was figuring out just how much the 'Switch' had involved. Clearly, their bodies had been switched. Just as clearly, so had their magic. Which as an aside meant Parseltongue was _not_ passed down through magic, and she was feeling both stumped and frustrated in her line of investigation – although she realized the environment she was in at the moment was not conductive to research. At. All.

Anyway.

A secondary concern, not yet blossomed in an actual worry but on its way to, regarded the date, in relation to the wizarding world. She remembered _very clearly_ how Professor McGonagall had turned her life upside down by showing up one morning and telling her she was a witch. She remembered _just as clearly_ that it had happened on July 1st, 1991. Which was _yesterday_.

She'd spent the last two days frantically trying to come up with a way to cope with the 'revelation' she was expecting.

How was she going to face McGonagall? Would she be able to fake her way through it? What if Dumbledore showed up? This was, after all, Harry Potter. She didn't want to tell them what they had done, not without talking it over with Harry first. Could she lie convincingly? But how would she withstand Legilimency? Would she even have to? They had no reason to try it so soon… and Harry had mentioned something about Hagrid… was Hagrid coming to deliver the letter? That made no sense. As friendly and lovable as he was, he was just the Gamekeeper. But she knew it had been Hagrid who told Harry about magic… No, now she remembered, the Dursleys had stopped Harry from receiving the letters, so Hogwarts had sent Hagrid. Presumably because he could easily intimidate _that whale_, she thought. So maybe she was in the clear for the moment…

As vexing as these worries had been, though, she preferred them to the situation she was in now, driving herself crazy with trying to figure out why _it hadn't happened_. No one had showed up. No letter, no representative, no sign of the wizarding world, no nothing.

What was going on?

A whole new list of worst-case scenarios was scrolling down in her head – they were in the wrong universe and the wizarding world didn't exist here; Harry for some unfathomable reason was now registered as a squib and he/she wasn't going to be contacted; Voldemort had come back years sooner in this timeline and had already taken over everything and only the Blood Wards (of which, as already pointed out, she didn't know much) were keeping him away…

She tried hard not to panic – there might be a reasonable explanation after all – in fact she bet there were dozens of good explanations, she just couldn't see them right now – there was no need to fret – but the mantra in her head would not be silenced.

_What in the name of Merlin's pink underpants was going on?_


	5. 5 A storm of meetings

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is borrowed from their proper owners with no intention of profit, just of having fun.

_A/N: Long chapter – perhaps too long – but what can I say? Harry kept going off on unexpected tangents... There will be more Hermione in the next one._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_5__. …a storm of meetings_

Harry knew he was staring rather rudely, but couldn't really bring himself to care just now.

It truly was Professor McGonagall.

From the black hair in her usual tight bun to the very familiar emerald-green robes, she was looking down at him/her with the stern face Harry remembered from his Sorting day, when his very first thought about her had been that this was not someone to cross.

Having known her for years, though, he was now able to recognize the faint hint of a smile that indicated she was happy to be there and meet – Hermione. _Fuck!_ Harry almost panicked at the realization. She was here to meet Hermione! This must be the routine 'no-it's-not-an-hoax-your-daughter-really-is-a-witch-and-yes-this-is-a-good-thing' visit to the first year Muggleborns!

_What am I going to do now_?

What would McGonagall say, what would she do, would she guess he wasn't Hermione, how would the Grangers take the news, would they go to Diagon Alley today, what was he to expect, what was he supposed to do,…?

The professor inquired briskly: "Miss Granger, I presume?"

Harry only managed to nod dumbly. So many things were probably about to go wrong... Luckily, he was rescued by his/her father coming to the door to see what was up.

"May I help you, Madam?", David Granger asked politely but with a frown. Harry supposed someone dressed like that wouldn't really inspire trust in the muggle world.

"Indeed you can, Mr. Granger", answered the witch smartly. "I am Professor McGonagall and I need to explain a few things about your daughter. May I come in?"

And Harry had followed them to the kitchen table with his heart pounding in his chest.

* * *

Four hours later, Harry had escaped to the nearest small park and was slowly getting over his bewilderment.

Objectively speaking, it hadn't been that bad. David and Julia had sure taken it well – better than him/her, he sheepishly admitted. But he'd been so confused! And worried she might suspect something! And, and, _happy _to see her, only not, because of what it meant. And panicked because his Hermione wasn't there and guilty that he hadn't contacted her and worried because he didn't know what to do and he didn't know what to expect… What would happen if McGonagall realized what they'd done? What if the Ministry found out? He was pretty sure it was illegal! And he still didn't know if it had worked properly – aside for the obvious screw up!

Really, was it any wonder if he'd been too out of sorts to react 'properly'?  
Whatever a 'proper' reaction to finding out you could do magic was, anyway?

Hermione's parents, on the other hand, had been – relieved.

Harry was amazed. He knew they accepted Hermione, overall, but he had expected it to take longer for them to come to terms with it. Instead, they easily admitted to being aware of their daughter's 'special abilities', as well as being concerned at her apparent lack of control.  
Apparently, they had discussed it a great deal between them, even if they had done their best to keep it from Hermione, in order not to scare her.

Yep, amazed pretty much covered it.

McGonagall had reassured them and patiently answered their questions – and Merlin were there questions! They wanted to know _everything_.

Harry realized that David's scientific mind was pleased to find a logical explanation for the puzzle that was his daughter, and that Julia was elated at the prospect of her little girl finally fitting in somewhere, as well as proud that Hermione was offered a place in 'the best magical school in Europe'.

Neither seemed worried in the least about her being... 'not normal'.  
Had he mentioned how amazed he was?

At one point Harry had realized that they were both darting him/her concerned glances and forced himself to make an effort to look more like their brilliant, alert Hermione and less like an idiot in a stupor. Luckily he had several years in the wizarding world to rely on to come up with questions, otherwise he knew he wouldn't have been able to string three words together. As it was, he suspected that half his questions had been too stupid for Hermione and the other half too spot on for a supposedly clueless eleven year old, but all in all he'd lived through it with his secret still safe.

McGonagall had also invited them to go school shopping with the group of the other muggleborn first years, the coming Saturday.

Harry had barely refrained from scowling – if there was an organized shopping day for Muggleborns, why hadn't _he_ been invited? They knew he was muggle raised!  
But that was neither here nor there.

The Grangers had started declining, citing a holiday they were supposed to leave for on Friday (Harry wondered how he'd missed that bit of information) and McGonagall was already proposing other possible dates closer to September 1st, but Harry had shaken himself out of his bafflement enough to protest this.

Diagon Alley meant a _wand_. He _needed_ his wand. The sooner the better!

David and Julia had been very surprised by his/her insistence, making Harry wonder if his Hermione had simply accepted their decision. Was that why she didn't know the other Muggleborns before the start of term? She'd been pretty isolated at the start...

And just like that he had the most perfect, _logical_ reason to get them to go on Saturday. The moment he/she had buried his/her head in David's shoulder and blurted out that she wanted to meet 'kids like her' and 'maybe make friends' they had capitulated.

After McGonagall had left they had wanted to talk about it all. Then talk some more. They were very concerned about his/her reaction. They worried that 'she' had trouble accepting herself.

Harry couldn't help himself in front of their caring questions and asked _why_ they were ok with this, didn't they think her... weird. He'd nearly used the word 'freakish' but even he knew, that was his _loving relatives_ speaking.

They had both hastened to reassure him/her and it had evolved in a rather emotional discussion. Harry had felt his bitterness rising at the comparison between the Dursleys' behaviour, and that of _proper parents_ like the Grangers. He wasn't one for tears, but his distress had been evident, even though Julia and David had believed its cause to be uneasiness with her/his status as a witch.

Julia had insisted on the fact that she would meet many others like her at this new school and painted a wonderful portrait of 'her' magical future. David had joked about 'superpowers' and assured him/her that he'd been looking for the X-Men school in his spare time, but this was much better as it was closer to home, right? Harry had wanted to laugh and cry and hug them tightly and scream at how unfair his previous life had been and most of all he'd wanted to get away, get some solitude.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore and he'd run away. He'd caught at the edge of his/her hearing David telling Julia to give 'her' some time alone to come to terms with everything and was deeply grateful.

Now he was at the park, hiding behind some bushes and pacing furiously.

As wonderful as it was for him to get a proper introduction to the wizarding world this time around, complete with support from loving adults, there was his Hermione to think about.

Hermione whose advice he needed rather desperately and, more importantly, Hermione who _wouldn't _get a proper introduction to magic – much less support of any kind. Contacting his best friend had just reached a whole new level on the priority list. He needed to talk to her _now._ He needed to get her out of the Dursleys' 'care'. He'd delayed long enough…

But how? _How_?

Then the answer hit him with all the forceful simplicity of a brick. Of course! Just because he was in the past (and in the wrong body) didn't mean he'd lost the knowledge he'd gained in his previous life! Nothing could stop him from doing _now_ something he'd learned _then_… well, except the fact that it was illegal, but it hadn't stopped him and Ron from doing it all over the country anyway…

Cursing at his own idiocy for not realizing this possibility sooner (but then again, he always did think better under pressure), he apparated to Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey.

And landed painfully on a carpeted floor, feeling as if he had hit and bounced off a wall.

"Oh my!", a shocked voice sounded somewhere above him. He opened his/her eyes and blinked frantically to cover his surprise: leaning over him was the wrinkled face of Mrs. Figg.

_What the hell…_

Once again proving his worth in an emergency, he summoned all of his acting skills and looked feverishly around, stumbling on his feet: "Where… what… where are they? Where am I? What happened? Where did they go? Something _squeezed _me! What happened? Who are you?"

He congratulated himself for managing to sound increasingly hysterical, all the while trying desperately to figure out both the truth of what had actually happened and the lie he wanted to tell to the Squib, and keep both straight, at least in his head.

Ok, so he could, indeed, still apparate, he had felt the usual stomach-turning sensation of being squeezed through a tube, and he was in Surrey, clearly it had worked, good to know. What had gone wrong, though? Why had he ended up before Mrs. Figg's fireplace?

The old lady seemed rather out of sorts, but she was valiantly trying to cover it in the face of the obvious distress the young girl in front of her was displaying.

"It's all right, dear, I'm sure it'll be all right. Why don't you calm down and tell me what happened?"

"I don't know what happened!", cried Harry shrilly, mentally applauding his performance.

"Right, right, that's ok, we'll figure it out together dear, don't worry, why don't we sit down, hm?"

Mrs. Figg steered the girl to a sofa in the room next door. Harry noticed her discreetly stuffing what looked like a poker behind an armchair. Had the sweet old lady been ready to club the intruder? Ok that she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he wouldn't have thought she had it in her!

She coaxed her/him to sit and awkwardly patted her/his shoulder, while Harry kept up feigning distress and confusion. He tried his best to ignore the cats currently investigating his/her legs. He realized though that if he wanted to keep his cover (and blowing it at the moment looked like an awful idea) he needed to elaborate his/her story.

So he sent a mental prayer for good luck to smile upon him and haltingly started, sniffling here and there for good measure: "I was… I was just… they were chasing me, they always do… Malcom and the others, they think it's fun you know… to, to hold me down and mock me and… and stuff… and so I was running away and I was so scared, 'cos, 'cos I took a wrong turn and I knew there wasn't a way out from that alley and, and, and they were coming, I could hear them, and, and I t-tried t-to run f-faster and, and…"

Mrs. Figg had made sympathetic sounds during the recount, and now she asked leadingly: "What happened then, dear?"

"I don't know!", wailed Harry. "Something _squeezed_ me! I w-was… it was so scary! I couldn't b-breath! And t-then I was here! I don't understand!", he/she sobbed, hoping against hope that the story was believable. He _had_ relied heavily on his own experience of ending up on the school rooftop, but it was also significantly different.

Mrs. Figg however 'aahed' in sudden understanding. 'Accidental apparition', Harry heard her muttering, 'without a wand, no less, amazing.'

Harry almost gave himself away then. Without a wand – of course he' done it without a wand, he _didn't have_ a wand. So he'd apparated without. Obviously. Except that, as he only now recalled, apparating without a wand was impossible. Huh.

He absently scratched the nearest cat's head, drawing a purr from the furry thing. How stupid was he, to forget that he needed a wand to apparate? And how had he done it anyway?

He snapped his attention back to the old lady when she started matronly: "Well dear, I think I can explain. It's nothing to worry about, really", she said reassuringly. Harry feigned utmost interest.

"Dear, do you believe in magic?" Harry thought fast, what should he do? Play clueless, admit to being a wiz- a witch? He decided to play it safe and stick with exactly what younger Hermione would have known at this point in her life.

"You mean… like that Professor McGonagall said? From the magical school Hogwarts? She came to talk to my parents and said I am a- a _witch_!", he hoped he was appearing both excited and scared.

Mrs. Figg looked relieved. "Oh, Minerva has contacted you already, thank Merlin. Well, you are indeed a witch, dear, and you just did magic."

"But how?", interrupted Harry, and knew the question was more genuine than anything else he'd said so far. "How can I do magic without knowing, Professor McGonagall said it's very difficult, and you need a wand and incantations and proper movements and, and… don't you need all that? Are you a witch?", he/she asked avidly. It was a bit mean, perhaps, knowing what he did, but also a perfectly reasonable question under the circumstances.

Mrs. Figg looked flustered. "Goddness, dear, no, I'm a squib."

"A what?", he feigned curiosity.

"A squib, dear, is someone without magic born in a magical family."

"Oh!", Harry acted as if he didn't know what to think of this – and it was less of an act than he would have liked. He didn't think he was prejudiced, but squibs were an uncomfortable subject even if he didn't like to admit it.

Mrs. Figg, though, seemed to regain composure as her young guest lost it, and smiled kindly. "It's quite all right, dear. I don't mind – I have a foot in both world this way, see?"

Harry had to smile at that.

"Anyway, dear, yes, you need a wand to do magic, but sometimes children do it accidentally, when they are very angry or very scared. It's called accidental magic. Don't worry about it, it's perfectly normal".

"Oh, ok… but… hm, how do I get back home? I don't know how I did it… I don't even know where I am…"

It was a jovial voice that shocked her to the core that answered from the door: "Not to worry, my dear child! I think I can help you in this quandary."

Harry gasped loudly as he caught sight of Albus Dumbledore, silver beard and absurd purple robes with flapping _ducklings_ (of all things!) embroidered on them included.

His/her jaw dropped – when had he arrived? – but in the back of his mind a connection was suddenly made: the wards!

Not that it explained _anything_, since he didn't know how they worked besides the basics, but on another level, it explained _everything_.

The thought was quickly ignored, though, in the face of the unexpected, obvious threat: Legilimency. He closed his/her eyes in resignation, knowing the charade was up and their secret was about to be discovered and _have consequences_.

To his astonishment though, Dumbledore didn't seem to know anything else than what Harry had told Mrs. Figg, nor was he investigating more.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and if I'm not mistaken, you'll soon be one of my students, dear child, won't you?"

"Oh, y-yes sir…", his mind whirling, Harry decided the safest course of action was to go with the flow. "My name's Hermione Granger, sir", he/she added and sketched a sort-of-curtsy that he hoped would be passed off as a muggle habit because he knew it looked nothing like the graceful ones pureblood witches used.

The old lady and the Headmaster exchanged a significant look, then she cajoled Harry into getting something-or-other from the kitchen. Harry politely refrained from snorting. _Sure, let's play the get-the-child-out-of-earshot game_. _Could they be any more obvious?_

He/she smiled graciously and left the room, straining his/her ears to catch a bit of the hurried conversation he was leaving behind.

"…no, no… quite sure… scanned her while you were getting her story… no trace of compulsions or anything… really confused… genuine, she doesn't know how… nothing to worry about. A mere coincidence…"

Harry's eyes widened dramatically. _Scanned?_ When…? How…? Coincidence… they must mean getting so close to- well, him… Harry… but what…?

He bit his/her lips. Forget that. The important thing was that Dumbledore seemed to be buying his little lie. Good. Inexplicable, but very, very good. As long as his cover held, he could figure out the details later…

Now, what was it old Figg wanted, again? He frowned, Merlin he was an idiot. Why hadn't he paid attention? _Oh well… here goes nothing…_

"Mrs. Figg, I can't find it!", she/he called out in the best sweet-amiable-girl voice he/she could manage.

"Oh, never mind, dear, I'll handle it!"

"Yes, I'm afraid we need to leave immediately. I shall accompany you home, Miss Granger, if you will accept me as chaperon?"

His blue eyes were twinkling just like Harry remembered and for a moment the time traveller didn't know whether to yell to the bastard who'd left him alone with his monumental task or hug his lost and greatly missed mentor for dear life.

Since he couldn't do either, though, the point was moot and he quickly reminded himself to stay focused on the part he had to play, inquiring eagerly about magical means of transportation, bidding farewell to Mrs. Figg with many thanks, letting Dumbledore apparate her/him 'home'… and nothing else.

* * *

Later, much later, Harry was trying with all his might to apparate across Hermione's bedroom.

He wasn't having any success. This was so frustrating!

How, _how _had he apparated without a wand? And why the hell couldn't he do it anymore? He refused to believe it a case of accidental magic. It had been _intentional_. He had _wanted_ to apparate and had ended up exactly were he wanted. Well, nearly, but that was something he'd already decided to leave for Hermione to investigate. Even if it looked like that would have to wait longer than he was comfortable with… he couldn't risk being found there again. Explaining away the one time had been a lucky fluke, having to justify a second time would be far too suspicious.

In the meanwhile, he was trying to figure out at least part of what had happened.

He tried once more, in vain, and sat heavily on Hermione's bed. He could feel a headache forming.

David coughed politely from the door. "What's wrong, Princess?"

He/she raised his/her eyes and debated whether or not to answer. Hermione's parents had been completely bewildered by Dumbledore's eccentricity; then, after they'd gotten the story from her (the official version, of course), they became worried that she might have ended up in an even worse spot and furious about this 'bullies business', promising to look into it. Maybe he could be honest with them – well, as much as possible, at any rate. Trusting adults was a novel experience, but one he found he didn't dislike.

"I was trying to do it again. The apparating thing, you know. If I did it once, I should be able to do it again, right?"

"I thought that Headmaster of yours said you can't do it without a wand?", asked the man in confusion.

"But I did do it!", exclaimed Harry, frustrated.

"Ah, but you didn't know you couldn't back then."

"Huh?"

"The first rule to be able to do something impossible is to not know that it is impossible, Princess."

Harry stared at him incredulously, then collapsed back on the bed, and stared at the stars on the ceiling.

* * *

When Saturday finally (_finally!_) came, both Harry and the Grangers were excited and eager.

They were the last to arrive, because even in Miss Planner's body Harry remained a last-minute-kind of guy.

He spotted Dean Thomas first; the fun-loving black boy he'd shared a dorm with for six years was already the tallest of their little group and had a smile a mile wide. A tall black woman with a fall of African braids had a hand on his shoulder: Harry guessed this was his mother.

He felt a pang: last time Harry'd seen him, Dean was on the run from the Muggleborn Registration Commission with two other wizards and a couple goblins; he wasn't smiling then.  
He/she waved a little at him, making a mental note to ask something about football to break the ice if needed, and got a half-surprised smile in return.

Looking around at the other children gathered, Harry recognized Terry Boot, a brown-haired Ravenclaw who had been in the D.A., who was talking with a black haired kid Harry only vaguely remembered as another Raven, apparently in his year. Both were accompanied by their parents and one of the mothers held a fussing toddler in a frilly yellow dress. They were holding a rather tentative conversation.

Off to the side, a wide-eyed and impeccably dressed Justin Finch-Fletchley was bouncing in his place next to a sour looking woman who looked straight out of one of the fashion magazines Aunt Petunia read so avidly. She appeared to be mightily displeased at her location and company and had a sneer worthy of a Malfoy on her face.

He blinked, shocked, at the sight of Lavender Brown. Six years in the same House and he'd never realized she was Muggleborn! Or... was she? The elderly lady beside her looked enough like her to be her grandmother and she was most definitely holding a wand, albeit discreetly. He didn't have time to ponder though, because the moment she spotted him/her, Lavender squealed loudly and flung herself at him/her.

"Oh my God! Oh – my – God – this is fantastic! I was so scared for a moment, I was starting to think I was the only girl! Wouldn't that have been horrid? But you're here! It's fantastic! Thank God, we're _so_ going to be great friends, I just know it! Aren't you excited? I am! Everything's so fantastic! And now you're here and I'm not the only girl and it's going to be perfect! I'm Lavender! What's your name?"

She rattled all this with great enthusiasm and after hugging him/her she hung onto his/her arm; she didn't look like she would let go anytime soon either.

Not a little overwhelmed, Harry none the less caught the subtle judging gaze with which the exuberant girl had efficiently scanned her 'new friend's' appearance, lingering dismissively on the bushy hair and the plain clothes, that looked positively out of date next to her trendy, perfectly colour-coordinated ones. Harry bristled. He might be used to such looks of contempt for his appearance, but he didn't want them directed to his Hermione!

Lavender was still talking a mile a minute, introducing her 'Grandmamma', who cautiously approached Julia and David. Luckily, the girl also carelessly provided some of the answers Harry had been curious about (and quite a few he wasn't interested in...).

"I absolutely couldn't believe it when that Professor came to tell us I was a witch, I mean sure I've changed the colours of things a lot but I didn't think much of it, you know? And I thought she was saying I was evil, I was quite offended at first, especially since she looked so weird, besides green really isn't her colour, God I hope our uniforms aren't like that, that would be horrid! Don't you agree? But anyway, Mum said it was all right, and she looked so weird, all sad and proud at the same time, and then when the Professor went away, can you guess? She told Dad that she already knew of magic because – you'll never believe this – Grandmamma is a witch! Only Mum isn't and they thought I wouldn't be either, or Robbie, that's my brother by the way, but instead I am! I couldn't believe Grandmamma was a witch, it's so weird! But she came over and turned the clock in a rabbit, it was so lovely! All fluffy, did you know rabbits are really intelligent? Mice too, but _those_ are horrible. God, I hope we won't be using mice for practice, that would be horrid! Do you know if we will? Grandmamma hasn't told me much, she says it's best if I learn with the others who didn't know about magic before, but I was _so_ nervous! What if there wasn't another girl? I'm just so _happy_ you're here!"

Professor McGonagall chose that moment to emerge from the Leaky Cauldron, closely followed by a frightened looking girl Harry didn't remember at all; Harry had never been so glad to see her, Lavender's unstoppable chatter was slowly but surely overwhelming him.

McGonagall called roll, letting Harry know that the black-haired kid was Kevin Entwhistle and the scared girl Sally-Anne Perks, then she led them all inside and through: "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

Harry didn't join in the delighted _oohs_ and _aahs_ that erupted from everyone, children and adults alike. He didn't share in the wide-eyed wonder nor add to the thrilled exclaiming.

He stood, rooted to the spot, not two steps beyond the hidden entrance. Waves of nausea assailed him as he tried to fight back the memories.

The bright, colourful Alley, bustling with activity and noise, kept swimming in and out of focus, blending into the grey, tense atmosphere of the last time he'd been here. Shady looking vendors selling fake amulets and big, dull ministerial posters were intermittingly replacing the glittering display windows in front of which happy looking witches gossiping about the price of newt eyes and so-and-so's daughter. Anxious looking wizards hurrying to do their business, wary of being out in the open too long, in his mind's eye shared the street with the jovial patrons calling out cheerfully to a friend passing by.

For the first time since he'd come back, he was forcefully reminded of the war – and it brought up a mixed feeling of desperation and determination.

It didn't help that right at that moment a haughty looking robed figure passed him/her by, sneering and muttering about 'mudbloods'. Harry clenched his fists: he probably wouldn't have noticed normally, but he'd instantly recognized Avery, one of the too many Death Eaters who'd been allowed to go free with a slap on the wrist after the first war. Hard to forget a face he'd tortured through Voldemort's mind – more than once.

It brought home like nothing else could have that Death Eaters were all around them. That his mind was more right than his senses and the war was closer than what the cheerful atmosphere would suggest – it was already here, upon them. They might have a bit of time, but they couldn't afford to waste it.

He scowled.

"Is something wrong, Miss Granger?". The voice of Professor McGonagall startled him and he/she pivoted around to face the teacher. "Not that it is important, but it is the first time the sight of the Alley is met with a scowl..."

Harry knew he should pretend. He knew he should laugh it off and act excited and awed and reassure the adults that everything was right, that everything was wonderful.

But something had stirred inside him and images of the war he'd just left behind swam in his mind, haunting, lingering – Cedric's lifeless eyes, Bellatrix's mad cackle, Hannah's face after her mother was killed, Umbridge behind her horrid Patronus, Remus telling him about Fortescue and Ollivander, the picture of the Order Moody showed him, Neville pocketing a gum wrapping, Tonks pale and bloodied at the Ministry, the headlines about Greyback's attacks, Molly's boggart, the pale terrified face of Mary Cattermole...

Brusquely, he/she asked: "What does 'mudblood' mean?"

McGonagall gasped, gobsmacked, her eyes widening: "W-What?"

Harry repeated the question, in a louder, clearer voice, attracting the attention of the rest of the group: "What does 'mudblood' mean?"

Lavender's grandmother gasped too and shared a worried glance with McGonagall.

"Where... where did you hear that?", asked the Professor, flustered.

Harry took a deep breath. "That man, the one who just passed by, he called me a 'mudblood' and said I should learn not to step in the way of 'my betters'", he lied frostily. He briefly wondered when he'd started lying with such natural ease... oh, right. When he woke up in his best-friend's body after going back in time. He hoped that counted as extenuating circumstances.

He watched coldly as McGonagall grasped for an answer to his question, in his mind daring her to lie. He would call her on it. The war was coming, pretending things were fine would only kill them all!

McGonagall had regained her composure and her 'teaching tone'. "I am sorry you were treated to such a rude display of bad-manners, Miss Granger. The term you mentioned is a derogative form of 'Muggleborn' and is not accepted in polite company. Do not take it personally, only ignorant fools use it", she said with a definitive tone.

Harry scowled again, but to his surprise, he needn't insist on the topic, because Dean did it for him.

"Derogative, that means like an insult, right?", he was frowning too. "Like calling a black person a 'nigger'?"

It was Lavender's grandmother who answered. "Something like that, yes. Some people think having muggle relatives makes a witch or wizard... lesser, than those who come from all-magical families", she was reluctantly honest, Harry noticed, and McGonagall didn't look happy.

"There is no need to take this so seriously...", she tried, and Harry exploded.

"You lied!"

McGonagall gasped, outraged. "What?"

"You told me it made no difference! You told me being Muggleborn wasn't important! You said- "

"Because it is no different!", shouted McGonagall.

"Maybe it isn't, but it does make a difference, doesn't it?", asked Terry quietly, his eyes darkened with seriousness.

Justin, Lavender and Kevin looked confused, but Dean had a grim smile as he added: "We're always going to be discriminated, aren't we? Even those who claim they don't care will feel the need to point out that they don't. Nobody will just accept us without question, will they?"

Harry was surprised. He wouldn't have been able to put it this well, and he was six years older than the other boy. He wondered if Dean had already faced prejudice in the muggle world.

McGonagall looked floored and unable to come up with an answer and Harry decided to nail her coffin. She had no right deluding kids, in his opinion.

"I suppose it is nice of you to want to _protect_ us, _Professor_", his voice was dripping sarcasm, "but it would have been _nice_, too, to be _warned_ that we would have to face prejudice and scorn on a regular basis", he sniffed at the shocked expression on the Professor's face and asked bluntly: "Will they try and harm us too?"

Lavender gave a little dismayed cry.

McGonagall was a rather formidable woman though and didn't let the unwelcome topic get on her nerves any longer then this.

"What would being warned do for you, Miss Granger? You can't change those bigots' minds by force, after all, nor can you prevent criminals from committing acts of evil. What then? Will you give up, renounce your powers, so that you are not faced with, as you so aptly put it, prejudice and scorn? Despite the fact that most wizards and witches are nothing like that? Despite the fact that you could be discriminated in the muggle world too?"

The coldness Harry had felt so far suddenly burned with hot, bright fury. "Renounce! Never in a million years!", he shouted forcefully. Everybody looked shocked, especially Julia and David, but he didn't notice. He'd forgotten that he was a young girl now and he spoke as the young man who'd faced evil and worse and led his friends into _battle_. "If you think I'll ever let those scum's opinion bother me, or stop me from living my life to the fullest, than you're as delusional as them! _I won't let them win_!"

"Hell yeah!", "Right!", shouted Kevin and Justin, caught up in his/her enthusiasm.

"We'll show them we're as good as they are!", vowed Terry, with his quiet intensity.

"Better then them!", reiterated Dean.

Even Lavender looked serious and determined like Harry had very rarely seen her.

He stared at them in amazement, noticing how they all stood a little straighter, a little closer to each other, a little stronger. It reminded him strongly of the DA's secret meetings. He had no idea that they were unconsciously imitating _him/her, _nor that the adults were taking note of this and were just as amazed as he.

All he could think was that maybe, maybe it didn't matter that they were just eleven-year-olds in the hands of too blind adults. Maybe he could really make a difference. Maybe he had just started; now he only had to keep up the good job once in Hogwarts

Maybe this time, when the war broke out, his age-mates at least would be ready.

His smile was grim yet filled with hope.

* * *

The rest of the morning had been largely unremarkable.

McGonagall led a group of parents to Gringotts while the kids were being fitted for uniforms at Madam Malkin's.

The boys chorused their protests when Lavender tried to talk everybody into buying a wizarding wardrobe – _she_ certainly bought more clothes than Harry reckoned she'd ever have time to wear.

Julia took advantage of Lavender's squealing enthusiasm to bully her 'daughter' into getting a few outfits too. Harry wisely chose the line of least resistance and merely made sure there was no pink involved.

Justin got thrown out of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary for overturning a barrel of live woodlice ('_Accidentally!'_).

Dean and Kevin came to blows over their favourite teams (West Ham vs Manchester United) and were silenced by McGonagall explaining in great detail how Quidditch was so much better than football, to Harry's great delight.

Inside Amanuensis Quills' Mrs. Finch-Fletchley threw a tantrum (Harry had never before seen a _grown-up_ throwing a _tantrum_) over making them use 'ridiculous surpassed feathers instead of proper fountain pens'.

Little Beatrix, Kevin's baby sister, floated in mid-air, happily giggling, after grabbing and promptly putting in her mouth some colourful beans from Sugarplum's Sweets Shop's display stall, to her mother's everlasting horror and everybody else's amusement.

Finally they went to Flourish & Blotts and Terry made a valiant effort to try and buy their entire catalogue, reminding Harry of his Hermione's book-grabbing tendencies and prompting him to select more books than he'd read in his entire previous lifetime.

David and Julia however set their foot down and allowed 'only' ten books besides the school list. Harry made a point to share a commiserating look with Terry, who was being similarly restricted by his 'completely unreasonable' parents. Justin joined the bonding moment by very sensibly suggesting they choose different books and then share, making Terry perk up considerably at the idea.

In the end, Harry put together a selection all oriented to Defensive and Combat Magic, which had McGonagall rise her eyebrows in surprise and worry; Terry bought every book on Magical Theory he got his hands on and dragged his future classmates into a debate about the Scientific Method and its applications to Magic that – to his everlasting shock – Harry found quite interesting; Kevin found a section on Magical Mysteries he wouldn't get out of anymore; Dean proclaimed them all barmy; Justin looked very proud of himself but didn't even touch a book; a very bored Lavender pestered her Grandmamma for hair-styling charms; and Sally-Anne Perks acted as if she was mute, kept out of the way and froze if one of the others so much as looked at her.

Last stop before lunch was Eeylops Owl Emporium.

The Grangers had already discussed and dismissed the possibility of a pet, but Harry remembered rather fondly the dark shop full of low, soft hooting, rustling and the flickering of jewel-bright eyes, so he followed Terry and Justin, who'd both talked their parents into buying them owls.

The moment he entered, he saw _her. _

She was so gorgeous, her white feathers almost gleaming in the semi-darkness, her amber eyes gleaming beautifully. As striking as the first time he'd seen her, a month from now so long a go. _Alive._

Harry's eyes filled with tears.

"Hedwig", he breathed.

Without conscious thought, he extended his/her arm to accept her weight, forgetting he/she looked different now and that Hedwig wouldn't know him yet even if he was himself…

But maybe she _did_ recognize him, because she soared with a soft hoot and landed easily on his/her arm, talons digging into the skin without bothering Harry in the least. He could count on one hand the times he'd been so _happy_.

He stroked her softly, crooning compliments in mid-voice, awed at having his old companion close once more. She preened under his attention and nibbled at his fingers gently.

He wasn't paying attention to anything around him and missed the half-exasperated discussion between David – who wanted his baby girl to look that happy more often and was all for buying the pretty owl – and Julia – who stuck with the no-pets rule – entirely. He wouldn't have cared anyway. Hedwig was here and he wasn't about to let her go!

Out in the sun again, the children showed off their new pets and chitchatted while the adults decided on the next stop.  
Everybody agreed on lunch before the last and most coveted stop of the day – the wandmaker.

That is, the _grown-ups_ agreed on lunch. The kids had become so impatient they would have gladly given up lunch for a _week_, just to get their wands sooner! They were placated though, by McGonagall's shrewd offer of sundaes at Fortescue's. Ice-cream was ice-cream after all.

They all gathered at the parlour's outdoor tables, the children around one and the adults at another, all chatting away animatedly.

Harry, still petting Hedwig's soft feathers, was struck by an idea and excused himself to 'the ladies' room' (he had to stifle the giggles at saying _that_).

Once safely out of sight, he whipped out quill and parchment and with growing excitement penned a quick letter to his Hermione. He hastily sketched the basis of what had happened since he woke up in the past, especially the apparition fiasco, explained he couldn't get to her and briefly warned her about Hagrid's visit and the Dursleys' reaction.

Then he paused, wondering how to justify to the others Hadwig's departure. Abruptly, the memory of 'the DA moment' earlier in the day came to him. He wanted to encourage that at Hogwarts… why not sooner as well? This could work.

He jotted down two lines to each of the kids he'd befriended today and then very seriously explained to Hedwig the order in which she should deliver them – leaving Hermione's as last and recommending her to keep out of sight if at all possible, very thankful that his owl companion was and had always been smarter than most.

Then he went back to his ice-cream, vivaciously telling to the others that he'd sent Hedwig out with letters to all of them, 'to see if it really works' (_that _drew a snort from both McGonagall and Lavender's grandmother) and 'so they could keep in contact'. They were ecstatic, and Harry found himself smiling and laughing a lot.

* * *

Hermione had managed to keep herself from doing anything that would give her away so far, but only barely.

She hadn't heard from her Harry.

She hadn't heard from Hogwarts.

And her/his aunt was being particularly vicious after some other lady of the neighbourhood had thrown a garden party that obscured Petunia's own and she was taking it out on her 'nephew'.

She'd come to rationalize the lack of contact from the wizarding world at least. She knew there were seven Muggleborns in her year, counting herself, it was likely McGonagall only saw one or two a day, considering the Q&A sessions that were likely to be needed, so it wasn't unreasonable to think Harry's turn hadn't come yet.

She would give it until next Sunday. If nothing happened by then, she would steal _that whale's _wallet (which made her uncomfortable, but it was an emergency, after all) and take a train to her parents' place.

If worse came to worse (if, that is, her younger self was just that, and not her best friend) she would go up to Arabella Figg and ask to contact Dumbledore.

And face whatever consequences would come of it.

In the meanwhile, she needed to keep herself occupied _and_ distracted, which meant either research, or a Human Rights Project of sorts.

The latter she gave a start to when she stumbled – literally – on camera of Dudley's that was, well not in good condition, but easily repairable. A thorough documentation of Harry's living condition would probably do no good in the immediate future, but once the Blood Wards were no longer needed… _those three_ were in for it. She would make sure of it!

As for the former… she didn't have the means or occasion for much really, but dwelling upon the approaching return to the wizarding world had reminded her of the problem posed by Legilimency.

Now, she'd never found a book on Occlumency (and considering she'd gotten her hands on something like _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_, no matter the attenuating circumstances, she was inclined to think there was _no_ Occlumency book to be found); but she'd listened to Harry's rants enough to guess that maybe some form of meditation would be a good first step. And she had a lot of time to practice, in a quiet dark place, since she was regularly locked in the cupboard…

Thus occupied, the days went slowly by. She was still antsy, though, and nearing the point when she'd go and do something _drastic_.

It was therefore an enormous relief to spot the almost glowing white of Hedwig's feathers in the twilight when she brought out the garbage Saturday evening.

* * *

_A/N 2: Before any of you asks, no, Hedwig hasn't come back in time or anything of the sort – she was dead already when they did the ritual. I don't have any experience with owls, but most animals are very sensitive to those around them. Hedwig is reacting to Harry's behaviour, his clear invitation and love, much as I imagine she did with Hagrid in canon – and Harry's reading too much into it because he misses her._


	6. 6 The rest of summer

_Disclaimer: __Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N:__About Hedwig and Mail Wards__. Quite a number of PMs and a couple reviews have commented/wondered/pondered/conjectured about the fact that Hedwig could get to Hermione at Number 4, Privet Drive despite the wards. I thought I could squeeze the explanation for that in this chapter, but in the end it didn't fit anywhere – hence this note. _

_I won't brave the dangerous territory labelled 'Blood Wards', for there be monsters (and spoilers!) but__ whether you believe in their existence or not, I hope you'll agree there's no way they could have anything to do with stopping mail. That just wouldn't make sense, IMHO. _

_The __mail ward (which definitely exists otherwise Harry would have been swarmed by fan mail and hate mail long before fifth year) must have been raised by Dumbledore. Assuming this, I can imagine it as a sort of firewall: it filters all mail going to a specific area and stops all that is addressed to 'Harry Potter', unless the sender is, say, 'Hogwarts'. This also allows for some other senders being 'keyed into' the ward, so to speak, I would imagine with the kind of screening that only allows a message through if the owner of the mail account has contacted the sender first (or introduced them to Hedwig, as it were), which would explain Ron and Hermione, for instance, being able to correspond with Harry. _

_I would like to point out that, with these assumptions, the mail ward would stop and likely forward to Dumbledore every owl directed to 'Harry Potter'. But Harry didn't send Hedwig to 'Harry Potter', now did he? He sent her to __**Hermione**__. A nice, convenient way around the firewall. _

_This is also how spam mail can get to your account, by the way, or so I'm told at least._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_6. The rest of summer_

Harry signed his latest letter to his best friend and leaned back in Hermione's desk chair.

This was it. Tomorrow was his – that is, _Harry's_ – eleventh birthday. Tomorrow Hagrid would take him – that is, Hermione – school shopping.

Tomorrow – if everything went according to the plan – he would finally meet Hermione.

Who was currently inhabiting his own body. Huh, that was even stranger than him being in hers… He laughed lightly. He couldn't wait.

Hedwig flew in and perched on his/her shoulder and he petted her lovingly, sharing his impatience and excitement with soft spoken words.

He'd fallen back into the habit of telling her everything fairly quickly. It was just so good to have someone he could talk to freely, even if he had to be careful not to be overheard by Julia or David. Hedwig was as great a comfort as the correspondence with Hermione.

The beautiful owl looked quite happy and rather smug. The past three weeks had been filled with letters, not only to and from his Hermione, but exchanged with some of the other Muggleborns too. She'd flown in and out on a daily basis and she was clearly enjoying being so busy.

Harry had decided to try and grow the tentative friendships that had started on that day in Diagon Alley into something like the DA. Hermione had recommended going gradually and – surprise, surprise! – form a standard study group first.

He'd teased her as she deserved, but deep down he agreed wholeheartedly. Especially since, if he managed to create the study group before the Sorting, there would be one less barrier among the Houses.

So far, he thought he could talk three or four of them into it.

Lavender had demanded his/her phone number with her very first letter and now called much more often than Harry found sensible, especially since she seldom had any _news_, just more of the same useless gossip. She'd already insisted he call her 'Lav', and he was dreading the moment he'd become 'Herm'. She was, however, enthusiastic about getting support for her homework, so he counted her in.

Sally-Anne had apparently dropped off the face of the earth and Dean had written to everybody that his step-dad was taking the family to Greece and that he would see them on September 1st. Harry hoped to get to talk to him on the train.

Kevin didn't seem too inclined to hang out with a _girl_. Harry had received a reply that was so unfailingly polite and so awkwardly short, that in his mind's eye he could picture quite clearly Mrs Entwhistle looming sternly over Kevin, pressuring the boy to write to 'that sweet girl' (as Harry'd heard himself referred as). She looked remarkably like Hermione standing over him and Ron with a glare to make sure they did their Potion essay properly…

Still, Terry had mentioned in passing that he'd heard from Kevin a lot and even met him once so Harry felt like tentatively including him in the group.

Terry himself kept sending him kilometres of written eagerness about every 'discovery' and 'new theory' he was investigating thanks to his recently found magic books and previously consolidated scientific attitude.

Harry found he didn't mind.

He forwarded everything to Hermione, who enjoyed the intelligent ponderings immensely, and toned down drastically her replies before passing them on to Terry. He was sure the two of them would get along wonderfully.

He just hoped he wouldn't be excluded when he was no longer needed as mediator: he liked the debates much more than he would have suspected, even if he didn't feel up to contributing much.

As for Justin, he was enthusiastically trying to get them all together at least one more time before school started.

Harry was all for it, but he'd done his best to delay the actual date until August. He wanted his Hermione there and needed a convincing reason to introduce 'Harry' to the group.

Sending Hedwig off with a doting farewell, Harry gathered the last papers he'd received from his Hermione and put them in a certain unassuming box with all the others.

Said box was the indirect result of Hermione's extensive research on protective and secrecy spells in their previous life.

She'd sent him a very detailed explanation (complete with pictures!) on how to make the box both unremarkable (with a variation of the notice-me-not charm) and inaccessible by any other than him. She had her own, just waiting to be charmed the same way, and she'd made it a peremptory rule that everything to do with their past future had to be kept there.

Harry hadn't argued – it made far too much sense after all. He'd just checked her assumption on the Underage Magic rule being bent in the last month before Hogwarts, by way of casting a colour changing charm on her bedcovers and waiting for any reactions from the Ministry before attempting any spell work on the box.

The easiness with which the charm had come to him still made him beam. Even if he knew it was cheating.

He dropped carelessly on Hermione's bed and took out his new wand, stroking it absent-mindedly and idly twirling it in his hands.

Not altogether surprisingly, it wasn't his old one, the eleven inches, holly and phoenix down feather he had bonded to in his first life.

He'd been prepared to that, had steeled himself, while Mr. Ollivander was taking his/her measurements and then handing him/her wands to try, against the very real possibility of not getting 'his' wand, due to the Switch.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, though.

He was very fond of 'his' wand, had felt a strong attachment to it, and not even its relation to Voldemort's had perturbed him: it was simply something it couldn't help, much like his being related to Petunia Dursley.

Unfortunately, when after waving about what felt like every wand in the shop Ollivander had reluctantly handed him 'his' wand, the match hadn't worked.

Oh, he could feel a connection, he would probably be able to use it without problems, but it was far-off. Remote. He'd felt no warmth, only a distant echo of Fawkes' heartening and comforting song.

He'd concealed his sigh, and accepted what he'd feared already. 'His' wand was no longer his.

What he found surprising and worrisome was that the wand he was now stroking wasn't Hermione's ten and three quarters inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring wand either.

He'd come to know that one very well over the years and had always liked it; he'd grown very fond of it too, in the few days Hermione had had to share it with him after his own was broken in the Godric's Hollow debacle.

Using Hermione's wand wouldn't have bothered him in the least.

Yet, when it had been offered to him – one of the first ones – he'd felt little more than what he got from the dozens of other, unrelated wands. A vague sense of connection, but hampered and remote.

He hadn't worried much at the time. With Lavender sending bright sparks every which way (she'd found her ten and a half inches, willow and unicorn tail hair wand on her first try, much to her delight) and Kevin and Dean loudly arguing about whether the former's ash and unicorn hairs was as cool as the latter's pine and dragon heartstrings or not, not to mention Terry debating the traditional connotations of eucalyptus and Justin hopping in place, impatient for his turn… well worrying wasn't really an option. It took too much concentration not to laugh!

But later on he'd wondered… and questioned… and conjectured… Would Hermione get the holly and phoenix wand or not? What if she didn't? Could they face Voldemort without the advantage of the twin cores? Who else would get it? Why had he bonded to such a different wand? How much had the Switch effected? … So many questions, and not one answer in sight.

Eventually Ollivander had had to fetch out a dust covered chest, where – he explained – he kept the last of his grandfather's creations. "He was an unusual wandmaker, in that he was convinced that limiting oneself to only one wood was counterproductive, as a difference between shaft and handle or the presence of inlays would allow for more fine-tuned results…"

Harry had then easily found a beautiful maple wand heavily inlaid with elegant walnut spirals. The core was once more a phoenix feather. It was a thing of beauty.

It had felt wonderful as he waved it and after only three weeks, Harry could feel a deep connection, a sense of rightness and joy every time he wielded it.

He/she sighed. _Whatever will be, will be_, he thought.

He/she rolled off the bed and started a draft to convince Justin that the first Saturday of August was the perfect date for a get-together.

* * *

Hermione listened to the storming sea from her/his spot on the floor. The rough, dusty floor of a hut in the middle of nowhere, where _that whale_ in his hysterics had dragged them all in this tempestuous night.

The sound of the crashing waves was almost enough to drown Ball of Lard's snores.

Despite the cold and the hunger, despite the hardness of her/his lying place, despite the nervousness not unlike that which she felt before an exam, she was smiling.

She was waiting for midnight, and a booming knock, and the Great Gentle Giant whisking her/him away to a world of Magic. She giggled quietly.

She/he rolled on her/his back and stared at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, the soft ticking of Harry's cousin's watch strangely clear over the roar of the sea and wind.

She knew what to expect. Harry had given her a fairly detailed idea of what would happen and how he himself had reacted. So far, she'd managed to stick to the script.

She smiled again, thinking of her best friend's lively letters. In the three weeks since he first made contact, Hedwig had dropped by everyday, occasionally even more than once a day. Sometimes she brought only a few affectionate lines, more often she went back and forth with pages and pages filled with writing.

She now thought back with shame to how she'd always dismissed Harry's reproach as childish when she and Ron didn't write much to him – especially before fifth year. She'd been so convinced he was just being silly.

In fact, even now she'd wanted him to stop writing her after the first letter, worried by the episode with Mrs Figg and Dumbledore.

Harry had paid her absolutely no mind, and she couldn't express how grateful she was for this.

His letters were like rays of light, like cherished smiles, like warm laughs she could share. They strengthened her, stimulated her, provided her with an escape she needed badly.

Never again would she think mail was silly or unimportant.

Five minutes to midnight.

They'd decided, after much discussing, to try and stick as close to Harry's memories as possible for now, in the hope of being able to arrange a 'chance meeting' that would represent a suitable 'alibi' for their friendship.

Harry had written as detailed an account of his receiving the invitation to Hogwarts as he was able. That had actually been a bit of a sore point, because Hermione had figured out seven different ways to handle the entire situation better than how Harry had, without much effort. Harry had been rather mortified.

He'd insisted she stick to his own actions and reactions, though, even if she found them daft. Any change, even little, could hopelessly mess up any chance of a working plan they might have.

She'd replied it wasn't much of an issue, considering all the changes _he_ had already made – she didn't tell him outright, since they were almost-fighting, but she was in awe at how much he'd accomplished and thrilled at the possibility of an inter-House core group of friends and later on, possibly comrades in arms; she still thought it was hypocritical of him to talk about preserving the timeline, however.

That had sparked a lively and unpredictably rewarding discussion of the Chaos Theory. She'd been delighted to find him both interested and sharp and wondered why he'd never shown any curiosity for her intellectual pursuits before now.

The debate had eventually been concluded by Harry pointing out that since they clearly had no way of killing off all those pesky butterflies that kept causing storms all over, they might as well resign themselves to their unpredictable presence and just hope for the best. She was still laughing.

Two minutes to midnight.

Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? But it did not sound like the spray from the high waves splattering the walls of the hut, nor like the fierce wind that had been rattling the filthy windows all night long…

And (one minute to go) was that funny crunching noise the clatter of boots stepping on the rock?

Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine – a quick prayer for everything to go as expected – three… two… one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and she/he sat bolt upright, staring at the door with a smile threatening to split her/his face. Hagrid had come.

* * *

Hermione woke early the next morning, to the sound of a loud tapping noise. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She/he sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him/her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Everything had gone smoothly the night before. Up to and including Ball of Lard getting a much deserved pigtail. She felt like bouncing with giddiness. A few more hours and she would see her Harry!

She/he jerked the window open and laughed delightedly when the owl, after dropping the newspaper on top of the still snoring Hagrid, fluttered onto the floor and began to attack the half-giant's coat.

She/he woke Hagrid and played clueless in front of the handful of coins he showed her/him, managed to pull off Harry's line about not having any money, thus reminding Hagrid their first stop needed to be Gringotts, and celebrated the start of this gloriously sunny day with squashed birthday cake and cold sausages for breakfast.

Oddly enough, she'd never particularly liked sausages but… well, either these were the best sausages _ever, _or her time with _those three_ had taught her to appreciate a broader range of tastes. They were delicious.

She wondered how _those three_ would get back to shore when Hagrid took the boat without a qualm, but dismissed the worry quickly. Served them right, anyway.

She concentrated instead on keeping a lively conversation going with Hagrid, hoping to secure his friendship like Harry had done before – getting him to talk about dragons and other magical creatures worked like a charm.

She felt her joy bubbling up inside her the whole way and tried hard to stifle her/his chuckles at the stares Hagrid garnered as they walked, because of his size and his silly wonder at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and his knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent on the train to London.

She felt the familiar wonder as they passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas. Were there really piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks just round the corner?

And then, finally, the long awaited rush of excitement when she spotted the memorable, grubby-looking pub just as Hagrid said: "This is it, the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

* * *

Ready as she thought she'd been to face what Harry had grandiosely described as his 'First, Frightening Face-off with Fickle Fame', Hermione exited the dark and shabby pub thoroughly upset.

The Leaky Cauldron had gone completely still and silent when the few patrons recognized 'Harry Potter'. Then there had been a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, she/he found himself shaking hands with _everyone_, and trying to come up with polite responses to the various 'what an honour' and 'welcome back' and 'can't believe I'm meeting you at last'.

She felt sick at all the delighted faces, when in the back of her mind she could hear echoes of the Daily Prophet's 'unbalanced', 'deluded', 'attention-seeking' comments – likely repeated and spread by those same adoring fans now fawning over him/her.

She was disgusted to realize the one meeting that had perturbed her less was with Professor Quirrell – and that, knowing _what_ he was!

'Quirrelmort' was another thing she and Harry had decided to leave be for the moment. Any of the plans they had discussed – _at length_ – in their letters was deemed too risky for too little gain.

Exposing him now was impossible, the lack of turban proved he wasn't already being possessed, merely in league with the Dark Lord. There was no point in stopping the futile robbing of Gringotts. Taking the Stone from Hagrid now – which would have been shameful but easy – in the hope of keeping it safe, would simply alert and alarm Dumbledore, who was bound to check on it and would certainly recognize any fake. Plus there was no guarantee that Voldemort would not find a different, unpredictable way to infiltrate Hogwarts if they neutralized Quirrel so soon.

So they had to ignore the whole mess – for now.

Hagrid roused from her thoughts exclaiming: "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

Hermione twirled, delighted and enchanted as she'd been her first time in this long cobbled street packed with the most fascinating wizarding shops in the world. Diagon Alley was so very different than the grey, depressed road the war had turned it into.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop; Eeylops Owl Emporium was the source of a familiar soft hooting; several boys of about her age had their noses pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies – she thought she recognized Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff who'd been (would be?) in her Arithmancy class – whispering about some broom or other.

The windows were glittering with displays of telescopes and strange silver instruments, tottering piles of spell books and barrels of eels' eyes, potion bottles and globes of the moon…

And the people!

Witches up for a day's shopping, happily gossiping and complaining about the price of dragon liver; venerable-looking elders arguing over a case of mismanagement at St. Mungo's that seemed to be on every newspaper; clusters of loud children running around; patrons showing one another their purchases or discussing their news under the brightly colored umbrellas outside cafes…

No one had the harried, anxious look that had been so common in her last couple of years, no one had qualms in stopping to talk or straying from their groups, no one was _afraid_.

Hermione was overjoyed.

She followed Hagrid into the bank with a light heart. The half-giant produced Harry's tiny golden key (as well as a handful of other knickknacks) and the expected letter from Dumbledore about the Stone and the goblin teller deemed both to be in order. What little nervousness she'd had about maybe having troubles at the bank because of the Switch faded. Clearly the goblins had no way to tell who she was or wasn't and only cared about her having the right key.

She didn't pay any attention to the narrow stone tunnels and tight corners they hurtled round, or the underground ravine they went rattling over, and she didn't bother feigning interest in the grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper that Hagrid took from vault seven hundred and thirteen. There was no point – and she _wasn't _curious, after all, she already _knew_.

She was, however, shocked by the small fortune Harry seemed to have: inside his vault were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours", said Hagrid smiling.

She/he bit his/her lip, feeling guilty about taking any of that, even if she knew it was silly: she/he needed the money for school shopping and besides, she knew very well that Harry would share everything without a second thought – he'd probably be completely incredulous that she even had any scruples, he wouldn't see the point at all. Still…

Out in the sunlight again, Hermione insisted she wanted her books first and Hagrid, as expected, slipped off 'fer a pick-me-up' leaving her to rejoice by herself.

It was time to 'stumble on' her past and future best friend.

* * *

Flourish and Blotts was exactly as she remembered it. The shelves she'd perused eagerly time and again were as always stacked to the ceiling with books large and small, leather-bound and in covers of silk, full of peculiar symbols or apparently with nothing in them at all.

As per their agreement, she found a girl with lots of bushy brown hair perusing _Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) _by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

She took a moment to observe her own body from the outside. She pursed her lips. Her hair was truly a fright!

It was so strange to be watching 'herself'; a more powerful effect than seeing one's younger self in a photograph: the same feeling of recognizing the once familiar look yet not.

She looked so young. So different from what she had grown used to see in the mirror. So different from how she'd come to think of herself. A child still, hinting at but not yet showing the woman Hermione knew she had been at eighteen.

It hit her hard, however, that the strongest difference was in the way Harry carried himself in her body. Never had she looked so confident in her previous life – certainly not at that age! – so relaxed and self-assured. Bossy, yes, overbearing often, always determined, yet carrying despite herself a deep rooted insecurity and fear of rejection that Harry seemed to lack completely.

She tried to remember if he'd been this confident at eleven; she suspected not, as she vaguely remembered him as timid, but she was too used to Harry as the strong leader of the last two years – albeit an unwilling, often oblivious and even more often unreasonably stubborn leader.

It was that leader she could see shining through her own body now, moving with a poise that caught the eye without effort and made people want to draw closer.

She/he smiled a bit, then put their plan into motion, 'accidentally on purpose' shoving her best-friend from behind, knocking him/her to her knees. Books from the shelves she/he grabbed to break her/his fall spilt over the floor haphazardly, and the bushy haired girl's indignant shout mingled with the dark haired boy's apologies.

They both scrabbled at the fallen books, pulling them frantically into their arms. Hermione came up with Viridian's book held in her hands, intently scrutinizing it; then he/she lifted his/her green eyes to meet the ones that had once belonged to her.

"_Curses and Countercurses… _Any chance there's something in there about how to curse an annoying bully of a cousin?", he/she asked in a mock-hopeful tone.

She knew her eyes were twinkling with merriment: they had decided not to arrange their conversation, instead trying to 'surprise' each other. By the sparkling in Harry's now-brown eyes, he was more than up to the challenge.

Hermione watched in amusement as she/he drew herself to her full height, exclaiming in mock-indignation: "You can't go around cursing your cousin, not even if he's a bully!" – _my, her front teeth had been really large once upon a time!_ – "First of all it's against the law to use magic outside of school and I don't think Hogwarts would stand for you cursing your own relative anyway and besides, it's really dangerous to cast curses without experience, it could turn out badly and you shouldn't try it for silly reasons!" – _was she really in the habit of talking so fast? From the outside it was rather impressive…_ - "Especially since you wouldn't be able to reverse it if it went wrong! You could even be killed!", the girl concluded sniffing, "Or worse, expelled!"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe Harry had just used her own line against her! And Merlin, but it sounded ridiculous now that she was hearing it!

Thank goodness she knew a good comeback…

"Girl", she said in perfect seriousness, only belied by her mischievous eyes, "you need to sort out your priorities."

A heartbeat.

Then they both collapsed in hysterical laughter.

* * *

Once they got their breath back, the smiling girl grabbed her new/old friend and started dragging him/her towards a stack that was partially hiding two very familiar figures.

Hermione had but one moment to steel herself before facing something she had both longed for and dreaded for months: meeting her parents again.

From the minute she'd obliviated their memories and sent them away from the war that was claiming her life, she'd tried in vain to ignore the fear of this inevitable moment: the moment when she would meet them again and find no recognition in their eyes.

She'd thought she was ready for it. In truth, it was harder than she could have imagined.

Raising her now-green eyes to look at them, knowing she – _he_, Harry – meant nothing to them … it hurt.

The Grangers were not particularly impressed with this strange boy, that much was apparent.

Hermione didn't blame them, though she inevitably felt hurt. The awful rags and the 'starved urchin' look were hardly good recommendation. Plus, she was sure they'd been keeping an eye on their daughter: they'd seen how this suspicious-looking boy had purposely bumped into their Hermione after watching her intently for a while, she guessed they'd been all set to rush to their daughter's aid, to save her from more bullying, but they were both very intelligent and had likely soon realized that he'd just wanted to meet her, to befriend her.

As a consequence, their gazes held a mix of distrust and hope when they looked at her – at _Harry_, that is: they weren't exceptionally happy with him but they also weren't about to ruin another chance for the acceptance and friendship their daughter had longed for for years. They'd keep watch, but they would give Harry – give _her_ – a chance to prove himself. She nodded to herself. She could gain their respect and trust, if nothing else.

Still, it hurt. She was grateful that Harry was chatting away a mile a minute, holding most of their attention, because her/his throat was constricted and her/his heart was thundering in her ears. She didn't think she was up to _conversation_. Especially not easy-going, relaxed chitchat as the situation was calling for – and as Harry seemed to have no trouble providing.

She bit his lower lip ferociously in an attempt to stem the sudden surge of jealousy.

He – _she_ – looked so comfortable with them! Playful, at ease… so, so _belonging_. Hermione could barely stand it.

She hadn't thought much about this aspect of the situation before, but now she was suddenly realizing that somewhere in the back of her mind she'd subconsciously expected her parents to _notice_. To somehow know that the girl in their house _wasn't_ their daughter. Weren't parents supposed to just _know_ this kind of things? To sense that something wasn't right with their child, despite the lack of signs?

Apparently not.

Harder still to take were their smiles. There wasn't only affection on their faces, there was pride. Admiration even. _She_ had only gained that relieved and proud expression after her third year, after her friendships had survived a huge row, giving her a new self-reliance, and the time-turner had taught her the value of a balanced rhythm in her life. They'd perceived that she was stronger and more serene, matured perhaps.

But Harry was already all that, wasn't he? He'd already gained that respect she had cherished from her beloved parents.

And it was hard to remain detached enough to remember that no matter how young he/she looked, he was really a few years _older_ than she'd been after third year and his comparable maturity was both natural and logical.

Hermione squeezed his/her eyes tightly and forced herself to put all those distressing thoughts and uncharitable feelings aside. She instead let herself be dragged all over the bookshop by an hyperactive bushy-head and indulged in buying more books than she probably should have, with Harry's cheering approval.

Still, it was hard to watch Harry shamelessly make puppy-dog eyes at _her_ father, earning his familiar laugh. It took all her self control not to just blurt out everything, the whole insane story, and damn the consequences, just so she could claim the hug she had not before realized she missed and craved so badly.

On top of everything she was irritated at herself for the awful impression she was surely giving to her parents, so out of sorts she was.

By the time Hagrid returned, however, she was mostly back to herself and alert enough to catch the worried glances under Harry's exuberance and try to reassure him/her. It's not like it was any fault of his, after all.

Hagrid's kind nature and Harry's absolute delight in seeing his old friend again meant that the two hit it off right away and the half-giant had no objections whatsoever to the nice girl and her family joining them in their shopping trip.

The Grangers for their part were glad to meet someone else from Hogwarts and get a chance to ask more questions about their daughter's mysterious school.

So they made the round of the shops as a lively group.

Harry and Hermione took advantage of every chance to talk without being overheard, be it 'getting lost' while exploring the smelly confusion of the Apothecary, with all its barrels of slimy stuff, jars of herbs and bright powders and strings of fangs and snarled claws hanging from the ceiling, or letting the loud crowd taking advantage of the trunks shop sales give them cover; then had fun acting silly over colour-changing inks, self-stirring cauldrons and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes whenever the grown-ups paid them any attention.

It didn't take long before the familiar pleasure of spending time with her best friend cheered Hermione up considerably – and Harry relaxed in response.

Finally Hagrid declared everything on 'Harry's' list bought except for robes and wand.

Harry and Hermione shared a hushed laugh over her avoiding the encounter with Malfoy junior at Madam Malkin's and Hermione reassured her friend that she would leave robes as the last item of the day, that way he could skip the stop he clearly had no interest whatsoever in. And, she privately added, she could see to it that 'Harry Potter' had a proper wardrobe this time around.

Before anything could be decided upon though the Grangers started saying it was time to go home. All Harry could do – chocolate brown, soulful puppy-eyes notwithstanding – was to talk them and Hagrid into buying ice-creams at Fortescue's before they left.

While the adults conversed a little more among themselves, the two time travellers whispered conspiratorially over their ice-creams (which had them both frowning, for Harry had chosen his usual chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts and found he didn't much care for it, and Hermione, who'd always disliked raspberry, was instead glad to swap her suddenly not so inviting vanilla and peppermint with it).

Changes in tastes aside, however, Hermione knew this was the perfect opportunity to discuss a rather… sensitive topic, which she had no idea how Harry would react to. She suspected he would _not_ like it one bit.

"Harry…", she started a bit hesitantly. "Harry, in our letters we haven't talked about… well, about what went wrong. You know, with- with the ritual and… the Switch."

The girl toyed with her spoon and regarded her/him soberly, then nodded in encouragement.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Harry, I have no idea what went wrong."

The ringing silence between them seemed to expand, cancelling the animated background sounds of the Alley.

Hermione worried her bottom lip nervously as she waited for her friend to answer. Then she realized Harry was looking at her funny.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

The girl in front of him/her snorted, bemused. "It's just weird, to see my own body bite his bottom lip the exact same way you always do when you're worried", he explained with laughter in his voice.

Hermione rolled her/his eyes good-naturedly.

"Ok, look", said Harry shaking her head as if to clear it. "What, exactly, is this about? I mean, why is you not knowing – _yet_, I might add – so important that you're… fearful… about telling me? I feel like I'm missing something, here…"

Hermione bowed her head. "Harry, don't you understand? If I don't know what I did wrong, I cannot fix it!"

"Yet", asserted Harry.

Hermione shook his head in muted denial.

"Hermione", her friend insisted, "you – _we_ – don't know how to fix things _yet_. That's ok. We need research, that's all. Not exactly unexpected!"

"Oh, but, don't you see! We need research, you say. Well how are we going to do it?", she/he cried softly.

The brown-haired girl frowned. "What do you mean…"

"Harry! The book I used was from the Black Library! There's no way to get it before the Order is reformed, it's not something you can find in a shop! It might even take longer, Mrs. Weasley made sure I couldn't get anywhere near the darker books until after Bill and Fleur's wedding!"

Her agitation was growing and Harry shushed her hastily, glancing around at the too-many people within earshot. Covertly, only the barest tip of his/her wand peeking from his/her sleeve, he/she cast a quick _Muffliato_.

"Be careful! Ok, so we don't have the right book. No need to panic", he said with forceful calm.

Hermione was incredulous. "No need…"

"Hermione, we're going to _Hogwarts_. Greatest magical library in Europe, does that ring a bell?" he/she was half-smiling again and Hermione felt her anger spark.

"Oh, and do you think they'll just let us stroll through the Restricted Section, looking for a Forbidden Art no less, with no questions asked? Two firsties? One of whom is _Harry bloody Potter_?" she hissed.

Harry faltered for a moment, then rallied. "I'm… that is, _you_ are getting my father's invisibility cloak for Christmas. Then we can peruse the Restricted Section", he said defiantly.

Hermione made an exasperated gesture and Harry grabbed her hand, staring intently in the troubled green orbs, so similar to those of his mother.

"It's just a few months."

"And Merlin knows how long after that before I find the answer!" exclaimed Hermione with anguish.

Harry nodded, sadly. "But they're also months we can put to good use. You won't have to go back to the Dursleys, that much I promise you."

Hermione started. She actually hadn't thought of that. "I don't…"

"The idea was to come back and prepare the wizarding world for what is to come", Harry went on earnestly. "We can still do that. We can do everything we set out to do, no matter _when_ we switch back. Or even _if_."

Hermione fidgeted. She was unwilling to voice what she really thought. Yet that last comment made her wince and her own eyes were looking at her with such trusting sincerity that she knew she _had _to point out her greatest fear.

"Can we?" she whispered. "Can we, Harry? Voldemort is already on the move."

Her friend frowned again. "I know", he/she said, puzzled. "So what?"

"Harry, _I'm not you_. I can't… I can't face Him! Not on my own!" There. She'd said it. Following Harry into the depths of Hell? Without hesitation. _Leading_ the way there? No. She just couldn't.

Harry however didn't seem to understand the huge, colossal problem. "Hermione, you're talking nonsense. I'll be there. I'll be with you every step of the way, you won't ever have to face _anything_ alone. We're in this together!"

"You can't promise that!" she exclaimed, distressed.

"Yes, I can." Patient, unruffled. She fought the urge to grab him/her and shake him/her.

"Harry…"

"_You_ were with me every step of the way, Hermione. Always at my side."

"Oh, yeah…", she went off bitterly. "Except when I stayed behind and you went on through the fire _alone_. And when I was petrified and you went down in the Chamber _alone_. And when I remained hidden and you faced the Dementors _alone_. And when I was left in the stands and you went to that graveyard _alone_. And when I was knocked out and you went on with the prophecy sphere alone." Her/his voice was harsh and steadily rising. "And when I couldn't even keep watch for you and _you were with Dumbledore alone. _And when Umbridge trapped me with her horrid Commission and you had to search the Ministry _alone. And when I stayed downstairs and you fought that snake alone!_" By now, she/he was breathing coarsely.

Harry grabbed his/her shoulders firmly and looked her/him straight in the eyes.

"You will not be alone. We know what to expect. Forewarned is forearmed. _I will not leave you alone_. I promise, Hermione. I won't."

She stared into chocolate brown irises and found the breathtaking intensity she was used to see shining from emerald ones.

It was mesmerizing. And she believed him.

Their behaviour had attracted the attention of their party, however, and the Grangers and Hagrid were now coming over with concerned expressions.

"What's wrong, Princess?" asked her father.

They both jumped back blushing and Hermione cast around for an answer before remembering that he wasn't addressing her – _him._

Harry quickly came up with something: "I was trying to get him to come on Saturday, I could introduce him to the others and everything, but he says his relatives…", he trailed off.

Hermione mentally applauded him. Hagrid mumbled something about 'Muggle gits' and the Grangers shared a worried glance, then tentatively asked: "Will your relatives object to you going out for a day?"

Hermione blushed again and muttered: "They'll object to anything. They… aren't very fond of me." Harry flinched imperceptibly and Hagrid growled menacingly under his breath.

This time the look the two dentists exchanged was both knowing and dark.

"Well, I think we could easily come and pick you up for the day next Saturday. I'm sure we can convince your relatives to entrust you to our care."

Hermione's head shot up and she looked at her father amazed.

Her mum then concluded with a tone of polished steel: "Just give me your phone number, Harry, I will call them myself to arrange everything."

She/he caught Harry's delighted smile and found it contagious.

* * *

Hermione kept her eyes fixated on the retreating forms of her parents and best friend as long as she could, then she/he slumped in the chair, staring unseeingly at the last, melting vestiges of her ice-cream.

Hagrid patted her/his shoulder awkwardly. "Ah, now, Harry… Don' you worry. It's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the stupidest Muggles I ever laid eyes on but you'll be just fine. That little witch there, she's one of a kind, I tell yeh. Yeh two, yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of ' her parents are a good sort. They'll pick yeh up no problem.I know it's hard. But, yeh have any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter an' I come an' give 'em a piece of my mind!"

He/she raised shining green eyes to him and smiled a bit. Hagrid smiled widely back.

"Just yer wand and robes left now — A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

She/he started, feeling himself go red once more. "You don't have to —"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, yeh go get yer robes an' I'll get… yeh'll see wha' I get yer!" He winked.

Hermione's smile grew a little wider, her spirits lifted by the undemanding kindness. "Ok."

About an hour later she/he left Madam Malkin's with a considerably worsened mood.

The Madam had been positively ecstatic when she'd found out _Harry Potter_ was in her shop – wanting an entire wardrobe, no less! The squealing assistants she had gathered to 'help' (read, 'play dressing doll with him/her') had spent the entire time commenting and speculating on 'Harry's' appearance, likes, dislikes, personal life and whatnot – and they hadn't even bothered to be discreet about it. Some of the questions he/she had been bombarded with were outright rude.

The whole time, she/he had felt torn between annoyance at the blatant staring and embarrassed at the undeserved awe she/he was the target of. She didn't feel up to shouldering Harry's task and their admiration made her feel like a cheat.

When she/he managed to escape with her purchases, however, she found Hagrid patiently waiting for her/him with… a medium-sized gray-brown owl streaked with white horizontal barring on the chest and vertical barring on the belly.

"'Tis a Barred Owl", he explained proudly. "Not very common 'round here, they're American mostly. I figur'd, all the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin', thought yeh might like him."

Hermione admired the creature in wonder, from the to yellow beak almost covered by feathers to the long tail crossed with seven sharply defined bands of pale brown.

She/he could find no words to thank the half-giant, so on an impulse, he/she threw her/his arms around him, reaching as far as he/she could, and buried his/her face in the peculiar coat.

Hagrid just gave a rumbling laugh and hugged him/her back.

"What say yeh we go fer yer wand now?" he asked.

Hermione's head shot up. "Oh, _yes_!"

* * *

While she/he waved around just about every wand in the tiny and shabby shop, filled right up to the ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes, Hermione found that the atmosphere was making the back of his/her neck prickle and it wasn't helping any in keeping the calm.

She wondered how she could have missed before the way the very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

The old man with wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop only added to the creepiness, with the way his silvery eyes seemed to never blink and how he spoke non-stop in a misty tone, of Harry's parents and of his own craft.

She'd been disquieted when she'd been handed her wand - ten and three quarters inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring. She'd assumed Harry had it already. Had he been chosen by his own then? Why hadn't he said anything? It was bound to attract attention to 'Hermione'.

But 'her' wand had barely responded to her, so maybe Harry had a different one entirely? What would that mean for their task?

Mr. Ollivander kept flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the lone spindly chair, but the more wands were pulled from the shelves, the happier the creepy wandmaker seemed to become.

Then Hermione held her breath sharply, because Ollivander had taken out Harry's wand. "Yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple…"

He/she bit her lip, dreading the response she might get from it. Yes, this wand was important, they needed it, but some part of her _didn't want it_, and more importantly, didn't want the responsibility that came with it.

But she needn't have worried after all. The wand gave her a faint impression of warmth and laughter, but didn't react to her waving at all.

Ollivander seemed disappointed. Instead of snatching it away immediately, he waited as if to see if it would change its mind and choose this wizard after all. Hermione didn't stop her/his scowl. The damn geezer! _The wand chooses the wizard indeed!_ Here was the proof that he at least _attempted_ to rig the results!

No sparks were forthcoming, though, and with an unstoppable sense of relief Hermione handed the powerful wand back.

Mr. Ollivander fixed him/her with his pale stare for a long time, making him/her fidget and swallow.

Then he sighed and disappeared into the back. She thought she heard him mutter '…forgotten for decades, and now twice in a month…' She wondered what that was about, and if the 'other time' was Harry's, three weeks prior.

The old man came back with a chest of unusual wands, which all seemed to be made of at least two woods.

Hermione _knew_ what her new wand would be the very moment she/he laid eyes on the deep rich reddish brown shaft, contrasting beautifully with the whitish, elegantly carved handle.

"Cherry and dragon heartstring, rigid, with engraved birch handle, ten inches. A difficult yet reliable wand."

Hermione smiled and slashed it downwards in a cascade of golden sparks. She wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much, but she/he paid for his wand full of gratitude. It felt _brilliant_.

* * *

The Grangers were true to their word and put the Dursleys into a corner, forcing them to let 'Harry' visit with their 'daughter.

Harry stared wide-eyed at the nice clothes Hermione had bought in his size when they met, and mock-threatened to shave his/her hair off in retaliation for the outrageous pink shirt the green-eyed was wearing. Hermione laughingly changed it back to its more sensible forest green and sternly warned her best friend off her hair.

Justin's party was a great success. The group accepted 'Harry' without question and if Lavender's Grandmother choked a bit when introduced, no one paid it too much mind. Mr. Finch-Fletchley turned out to be much nicer than his wife and made them all welcome in his 'humble abode' – a stately country house that was anything but.

They had fun discussing their own very peculiar ideas of magic and playing hide'n'seek in Justin's 'garden' (which would be best described as park, as it was the grounds of the Finch-Fletchleys' old manor).

Tentative plans were made for an outing or two more before September came.

Harry and Hermione, sitting side by side in Justin's patio, watching the golden sunset among their 'new' friends, shared a smile.

For the moment, all was well.

* * *

_A/N 2: __for those who are interested, I have chosen the woods for the wands on the basis of the following meanings, which I took in part from "Le voci del bosco" by Mauro Corona (he's a writer from the mountainous area my mum was born in) and in part from a booklet on Celtic lore:_

_Willow_ is a woman self-sufficient and secluded by her own choice; it is a tree of emotion, sentiment, love, intuition, and poetic inspiration; it is associated with visions that bring a clearer understanding of the world; it carries the quality of flexibility, in both its meanings of adaptability and capriciousness.

_Ash_ is a politician of the woods; it is a tree of determination and social skills; it carries the qualities of ambition, trustworthiness, faithfulness; it enhances peace of mind and promotes good health.

_Pine_ is a family man, humble and unassuming; it is a tree of peace and tranquillity; it represents a vulnerable but gentle helper that carries the strength of family bonds and the serenity of quiet.

_Eucalyptus_ is a sage of great wisdom and erudition; it is one of the strongest healing woods known and has been used for medicines for centuries; it carries the qualities of goodness and purity, its energy is clean like the earth from which it is born: it is a wood highly recommended for any purpose combating illness or promoting good health.

_Walnut_ is a clear-headed and farsighted leader; it is a wood of clarity and focus, that helps in using mental gifts wisely and putting intelligence to the best use; it holds the powers of teleportation, astral travel, and inspiration and is a symbol of confidence and mental wisdom.

_Maple_ is a warm-hearted, compassionate and resilient rebel; it is the tree of offering and sacrifice, of giving of one's self so that others may benefit; it holds the qualities of creation, communication, revolution, rebirth, healing, and abundance; full of imagination and originality, Maple is a traveller's wood: it enhances intellectual pursuits and learning and is suited to those who are always on the move and changing.

_Cherry_ is a loving woman, partner, sister, mother, nurturer; it is the tree of the heart, of will and desire, of relating to others in a compassionate manner, of beauty; it is imbued with the powers of making and doing, achievement, self-assertion over obstacles and critics; it has often been used for beds and cradles and is associated with true-dreaming and visionary art.

_Birch_ is a queen of the woods, not only because of her perfect elegance and sophisticated gracefulness, but also for the tenacity hidden behind her appearance of fragility, the strong will and unsuspected resilience that let her bare immense weight and face hardships of life that break trees, which at a glance seem much more robust, and instead make her stronger; it is associated with the search for truth as well as with discipline and the administration of justice.


	7. 7 All aboard

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_7__. All aboard!_

Harry looked blearily at the silent, red form of the Hogwarts Express, motionless in the faint morning mist, drops of dew still glistening here and there on its surface.

Never in all his years had he arrived so _early_. The locomotive was still and quiet, the platform grey and empty. It was almost sad, he thought.

But alas! Julia and David had been so excited and nervous and overall impatient, and with Hermione – who'd been staying with them for the last couple weeks – up and about hours in advance and efficiently keeping him focused on getting ready, they'd managed to get there much, much earlier than warranted.

Perhaps it was ok, though.

'She' glanced over at the jet of black hair bent over the trunks for a last-minute inspection, mingling with Julia's brown curls, and smiled a little.

It was clear that the Grangers needed to feel at least vaguely in control: that, he guessed, was the whole point of reading everything about the wizarding world they could get their hands on and go over the lists of 'what Hermione needs' time and time again. In David's words, 'be prepared for anything'.

If being early at the station made them feel a little better about their little girl going off to another world entirely…

And if he were honest with himself, he was glad they all had a bit of 'extra' time together before goodbyes, with no worries of lateness and forgetfulness and the million and one little delays that made the 1st of September in the Weasley household a total chaos.

He sighed. He'd come to like Julia and David and didn't really want to leave them so soon.

But more than that… he was truly happy his friend got some more time with her parents.

He felt horribly guilty towards her, possibly even more than at first. Hermione was plainly delighted at every opportunity to do something with either of them. He couldn't really understand what it was like for her, to be a stranger for the people she loved and knew so well, but it made him uncomfortable. It was clear to him at least that she missed them badly.

Anything that allowed the three of them to get a little closer was good in his book, even if it meant getting up at quarter to five and repack four times in as many hours.

At least David and Julia – especially Julia – had taken to 'Harry' straightaway, after the initial misgivings.

Harry suspected their kindness was born of their worries. He'd had clear proof that Hermione got her brilliant mind from them: it had only taken them a couple meetings to assess 'Harry' as in need of care and support against his neglectful, possibly abusive guardians.

Harry had silently crept downstairs one night in mid-August, after he'd been gently shooed to 'her' room, and overheard them talking with a friend of David's from college, who'd become a barrister.

He'd felt his heart swell with confusing emotion when he'd realized they were asking about options for taking 'Harry' away from the Dursleys.

The barrister's advice had not been comforting.

"If he's still there, after what you describe as years of neglect, it means that either it isn't as serious as you claim…"

"They kept him locked in a _cupboard_!" had exploded Julia with blazing indignation. "How is that _not serious_ _enough_? He told me he'd never slept in a bed before…"

The barrister had looked a bit shocked, then uncomfortable. "Teachers are trained to spot this kind of abuse. If he's still there… someone's keeping him where he is."

"What?" The appalled question had come shouted from both the Grangers in unison.

The barrister had grimaced. "Bribes would be my guess. The guardians paying to keep everything quiet, so they don't risk jail-time or loss of reputation. Maybe they even like having him there to pile abuse on. A scapegoat of sorts, you know? To take their frustration out on without stressing the family bonds… Happens..." he'd trailed off.

The Grangers were horrified.

"Sadly, unless you have a tight case, with lots of sound evidence… well, given the situation, trying and bettering the child's life would probably be a more likely option than getting him away."

"But, but…"

"Look, you said he got accepted to boarding school, right?"

"Yes, he… he won a scholarship", said David hiding his discomfort at the lie, though Harry thought it wasn't that far from the truth.

"Well, he's clearly smart then, he'll survive. He'll be out of their hair nine months out of twelve. Perhaps he can stay for summer program or something. If not, maybe stay at a friend's?" he'd suggested hinting heavily.

The Grangers had looked both disappointed and determined.

After the barrister left, they'd found 'her' sitting on the stairs, 'her' face grim. They'd scolded 'her' a bit for eavesdropping, but she'd ignored them.

"I want to invite Harry over", she'd said quietly, forcefully.

They'd exchanged a sharp glance, then calmly nodded.

And 'Harry' had soon found himself happily ensconced in their guest bedroom.

Harry sighed and put those reflections out of his mind. At least he'd managed to keep his promise to Hermione, to get her out of Privet Drive…

David came up behind 'her' and put an arm around 'her' shoulder. "Nervous, Princess?"

Even as 'she' smiled at Hermione's dad, Harry considered the question.

Truth was, he wasn't. Nervous, that is. He wasn't sure why, but he felt relaxed and confident despite knowing all too well what was waiting for them in the next few years – starting this very coming Halloween.

Or maybe even sooner, if someone (Dumbledore, or Snape, or whoever) caught up with the Switch.

Nevertheless, he wasn't nervous, though 'she' gave the standard 'just a little' reply to David's query.

He wondered if it was because the last month had been so serene, so enjoyable in his tranquillity. A long, much needed string of happy summer days, filled with ice-creams and laughter and lively discussions about everything and anything. A never-ending stream of good moments.

He could in all honesty say that the last few weeks had been among the best of his life, ranking right up there with the summer at the Burrow before sixth year and the weeks at the Leaky Cauldron before third.

He would be hard pressed to choose a winner between those two: the long, peaceful days spent playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard - he and Hermione against Ron and Ginny - or lazing about within the confines of the Burrow's garden, goofing off with Ron in the warm sun; and the exciting, heading freedom of roaming around Diagon Alley with Galleons tinning in his pockets, browsing the most fascinating wizarding shops in the world.

What was sure, was that the fun-filled afternoons with the group of muggle-raised future classmates, the movie nights and Sunday trips with Julia and David and most of all, the many many hours shared 'just being kids' – for once! – with 'Harry' were just as good, if not even better.

Thinking back, only two moments stood in stark relief against the warm sun-golden haze.

The first had been precipitated by an admittedly silly prank of his. He'd used some clear tape to fix the spray trigger of the kitchen faucet in such a way that when Hermione had turned the faucet on, the handle had sprayed uncontrollably, mildly soaking her/him. Okay, so it was a bit childish, but she'd been the one to drench him with the pipe hose the day before in the first place!

Be that as it may, the prank had resulted in his dripping wet, furious green-eyed friend hissing crossly "Harry!"

He'd frozen in mid-laugh when he'd caught the puzzled look on David's face, who was coming from the garden right at that moment.

In a rush, he'd covered for the slip awkwardly: "I know your name is Harry!" 'her' voice was squeaky "It's just fun to rile you up. You should see your face when I call you Greeneyes!"

David had stifled a laugh and tried to reprimand his 'daughter' without much success. Truth was, Hermione's parents were absurdly grateful at seeing their 'daughter' having fun with someone her age at long last and were more likely to encourage pranks rather than give her a scolding.

Thankfully while teasing them David had only seen 'Harry's' back, and thus hadn't noticed the way Hermione's eyes had widened in realization and fright, or her sheepish embarrassment at her slip.

Later, the two of them broached the topic again, in private.

They had been lazing in the backyard, lying under Hermione's favourite tree, ostensibly reading through their Defence textbook (which, in hindsight, Harry recognized to be very good; he could easily work out something with it if/when they started up the 'Defence Association' to counter Quirrel's poor teaching methods, as Hermione was already hinting rather insistently that they should).

He'd stifled a smile at noticing again how 'he' was torturing 'his' lower lip, in a gesture that was so utterly Hermione, it looked out of place on his own face.

'He' didn't look about to say what was on her mind, though, so Harry had decided to get the ball rolling himself.

"Hermione, spit it out", 'she'd' said.

"But that's just it!" 'he'd' burst out. "You can't call me Hermione! Someone's bound to start asking questions – questions we don't want – we can't afford –"

"Slow down!" 'she'd' exclaimed a bit alarmed.

The green-eyed boy had peered at 'her' with worry: "Harry, how are we going to keep up pretence? We…"

Harry had cut 'him' off: "_You_ are Harry now. You are perfectly right, you can't go around calling _me_…"

"I know!" had cried 'he', "that's my point exactly! You saw what nearly happened earlier…"

"Yeah, it was a close call, wasn't it?"

The boy had shut his book brusquely and exploded in a harsh whisper: "We're bound to slip up, Har… I mean, Herm… oh, it's just too strange! We can try and be careful but…"

Harry had dropped back on the grass, staring at the sky and tree above them, absently twisting a lock of 'her' brown hair with a finger, and he'd let his mind wander.

It was a problem, yes. A serious problem to be sure. He just didn't know what to do about it. Hermione was right, they were bound to slip up.

He couldn't very well stop thinking of his best friend as 'Hermione', could he? And thinking of her as 'Harry Potter'? Preposterous. Much as he'd sometimes felt (or wished) that the Boy-Who-Lived was a different person entirely, in the end _he_ was _Harry_ no matter what.

He'd watched his best friend worry 'his' bottom lip with 'his' teeth without really seeing 'him'.

They couldn't use their real names, that much was obvious. A muggleborn girl introducing herself as 'Harry', now that would have been… interesting. He grimaced. Almost as gossip-worthy as the Boy-Who-Lived claiming his name was _Hermione_. Merlin, the stories Rita Skeeter could concoct…

Using each other's name according to their appearance was perhaps sensible but, clearly, too risky. It _had _been a close call earlier and Hermione was right, they couldn't afford uncomfortable questions. They needed a safer, more reliable solution.

What then?

He'd stared in the distance, barely aware of his silent friend nearby, as lost in thought as he was.

It's not like they could come up with completely different aliases, they were too well known for that. And how would they justify it?

Besides, he'd never been very good at coming up with names (the earlier, pathetic 'Greeneyes' being proof enough of that). Not to mention that time on the Knight Bus when he was on the run and he'd stolen a friend's name – he just couldn't seem to lie convincingly under pressure.

He almost chuckled as the memory of Snape's face when he'd presented Ron's Potion book to him the previous year rose in his mind. Roonil Wazlib indeed! '_Oh, but, sir, it's my nickname…!'_

He'd sat up with a jerk. "That's it!"

The boy next to 'her' had started. "What? What's what?"

Harry had giggled: "_What's what?"_

The boy had scowled. "Harry!..."

"No, not Harry. You must call me something else."

"Like _what_?"

"Well, we'll have to come up with good ones… let me think…"

"Good _what?"_, 'he' had cried exasperated.

Harry had smiled wickedly: "Nicknames, obviously."

'She'd' watched 'his' eyes lit up in understanding, then enthusiasm. "That's brilliant!" 'He'd' breathed. "We should find something completely new… something fitting… it should be easy to start thinking of the other in those terms… and we wouldn't slip up anywhere near as much…"

Harry had settled back contentedly, aware that now, the brilliant mind currently in Harry's body could see everything and work out all the necessary details.

It had always been like that after all. Harry's intuition and Hermione's analysis. What a team!  
He carefully skirted any thought of the last, unfortunately missing part of the Golden Trio.

"The main problem as I see it", had said Hermione a while later, "is that we'll have to justify the sudden use of nicknames to everybody else. My parents might not be difficult, we _are_ eleven after all, we're not required to make perfect sense to adults…"

Harry had stifled an incredulous laugh at 'his' matter-of-fact tone and 'he'd' unflappably ignored 'her'.

"…but what about the group? How can we just up and start using nicknames they haven't heard before? Especially since we've officially just met… we don't know each other enough to come up with something appropriate…"

"Well, we could try with something to do with our appearances…"

"Like Greeneyes?" 'He'd' asked scathingly, making 'her' wince.

"Maybe not then", 'she'd' mumbled.

"The best thing would be to take the nicknames from a book we both like, or something of the sort. That would explain everything… I mean, we've been getting to know each other, and we discovered we both like that one character… you see what I'm getting at?"

"Like Star Wars?" had asked Harry, still busy lazily counting the sun beams through the tree branches.

The boy had smirked. "All right, that might work… Leia."

The brown-haired girl had gasped outraged: "What?"

"Well, Dad already calls you Princess, does he not? It fits!"

"B-but that's a _girl's_ name!"

"So?"

'He' had ignored how 'she' had spluttered and blushed. "I don't want a girl name!" 'She'd' cried.

"Hum… You… well, I don't know how to say this but… Harry, you _are_ a girl. Hum. Might remain one for a while too…", 'he' had ducked 'his' head, red with embarrassment. "Consider, Harry!..."

'She' had scowled at 'him' a moment, then, struck by a sudden thought, had smirked back: "If you say so, Skywalker."

The boy had groaned, though really, 'he'd' gone looking for that one. Still, there was such a thing as going down fighting, apparently: "You can't call me that, every Muggleborn would recognize the quote, it's much more evident than 'Leia', and then we would be continuously explaining the whys and wherefores and someone might even work out the parallelisms between the Jedi hero and the Boy-Who-Lived and…"

'His' babbling had been to no avail.

"Well I shall call you Sky then!" Harry had happily ignored the dark gaze 'her' companion was bestowing upon 'her'.

The second episode was far more serious and had left them with a bitter tang in their mouth that Harry could still taste days later. It was probably the closer thing to an actual altercation they'd had in _months_.

The topic? Why, _Ron Weasley_.

"He left."

Silence.

"He _left_", he'd repeated in clenched tones.

He hadn't meant to sound quite so… lapidarian. But damn it, he was _angry_. Furious!

Hurt.

Betrayed.

And Hermione's voice had always been perfect for bossiness and now, _he_ was Hermione. And 'she' was going to use 'her' new body to the fullest.

"He left, Sky", 'she'd' repeated, even more strongly. "He left us in the middle of nowhere when we needed him the most."

"But…" Hermione had been upset, but Harry wasn't going to budge on this.

"I don't want him in my life, Sky."

'He'd' gasped, shocked. "You don't mean this!"

Problem was, Harry did.

"He made a mistake! Everybody makes mistakes!" 'His' voice had acquired a shrill tone that Harry hadn't known his body could achieve.

"Wasn't the first one, though, was it?" 'She'd' cut 'him' off snidely. "Triwizard Tournament rings a bell?"

'She'd' watched his previous body wince, but hadn't relented. "Remember when he put a rat before your friendship?"

"Yes, well, _you_ chose a _broomstick_ over me!"

'She'd' ignored 'him', mainly because 'he' was right.

"Remember how prejudice he is? Against everything even remotely connected to Slytherin?"

"Well he kind of has a point…"

"No he doesn't, and you know it!"

"Leia…"

"Remember how prejudice he was against _Remus_?"

'He'd' fallen silent, 'his' green eyes full of anguish.

'She'd' insisted: "Remember _Lavender_?"

Sky had scowled.

He had to admit that that was a low blow. But it had driven the point home. He hoped. He didn't really want her to keep on badgering him until he had to give in and tell her the _real_ reason he didn't want to befriend Ron again…

Sky had dropped gracelessly on the sofa that day and stared morosely out of the window, letting the matter drop but refusing to talk about anything else at all.

In the no longer so silent station, Harry leaned into David's encouraging hug and sighed, going over the damn argument in his mind. Again.

It wasn't that he didn't understand.

He too would miss… the Weasleys… but as usual he discarded that line of thought hurriedly. Better not think of Ginny at all.

Still, the welcoming red-heads were his family, at least in his mind, and part of him was already mourning their loss.

The Twins and their pranks and their wonderful way of always cracking the right joke at the perfect time.

Mrs Weasley's cooking and her fussing and her scolding and her hugs and even degnoming, seriously.

Mr Weasley and his enthusiasm for the silliest things and his reliable smile and his tweaked muggle 'toys'.

Oh, yes, he would miss the Burrow, and Percy crossly demanding 'silence', and Bill and Charlie making tables fight in the garden, and even the ghoul in the attic banging on the pipes when the cosy house was too quiet.

But mourning was better than…

Than…

Argh!

He knew, just _knew_, that even if – _if_ – they went and befriended Ronald Weasley and reformed the Golden Trio… his – no, her! – role in it would necessarily be different. And he wasn't sure he could take it.

Watching Ron goofing off with 'Harry' and remain on the sidelines, because they loved Hermione but didn't share guys' talk with her. Watching the Twins teach 'Harry' the fine art of pranking and have to act prim and proper because Hermione wanted to be a prefect. Watching Mrs Weasley mothering 'Harry' and not 'her', because 'she' already had a mother after all.

Watching…

Watching Ginny pine on 'Harry'…

God, maybe she would even come and ask for advice on how to get 'him' from 'her' – she had from Hermione the previous time around…

Merlin he felt like screaming!

Not Ron. He pleaded silently time and again. Hermione, please understand. I can't take it…

But he never voiced it. And she wasn't likely to understand this on her own.

He remembered the quiet whisper that had come from the sofa that day. "He is your best friend…"

He'd pretended that he hadn't heard, but he wanted to scream: 'He was, yes, but now he wouldn't be, because he'd be _yours_!'

A few families were starting to populate the area now, giving it a more animated feel, though it was still a far cry from the jumble of noises he'd always associated to Platform Nine and Three-quarters.

Harry gripped David's hand tightly, surprised at how comforting it was.

A ruckus from the direction of the trunks brought them back towards Julia and Sky.

The two were trying to load the trunks in a compartment and Hedwig was kicking up a fuss. Actually Harry was inclined to define it a royal tantrum.

'She' ran a hand through 'her' hair (a habit from his previous life he couldn't seem to break) and smiled a bit at how short it was.

'She'd' finally worn out Hermione's resistance by constantly bitching about how unmanageable it was and simultaneously made Lavender shine with elation by asking her help in choosing – and getting – a 'trendy' haircut.

'She' shook 'her' head and moved to calm his beautiful owl down. He really didn't know why he was surprised at her grouchiness, he should have expected it.

The problem, Harry knew, was Archimedes – as Hermione had called her barred owl (it seemed Hagrid stayed true to himself… Harry was both happy that Hermione got a present from the friendly half-giant, and _deliriously_ happy that he'd got to Hedwig first).

Harry wasn't sure why David had collapsed in helpless chuckles when he'd heard the name. He himself had just looked at Hermione blankly. Later on, she'd explained it was the grouchy and sarcastic pet owl of Merlin in a muggle movie.

Well, grouchy it was for sure. Harry still didn't get why this should warrant a chuckle every time the name was mentioned, much less push David to say _Who who? What what?_ at random intervals around the owl.

Judging from 'his' discreet rolling of eyes, neither did Hermione.

For some unfathomable reason however, Hedwig _loathed_ Archimedes. It was surprising, because she'd even tolerated _Pigwidgeon_ and that tiny ball of chirpiness would have tried the patience of a saint…

It took a while to settle the owls and the fussing made him miss the arrival of a bouncing Justin, accompanied by who they'd quickly learned was the Finch-Fletchley's Nanny, her hands full – literally – with Justin's five and six year old little brothers, who managed the impressive feat of making more noise between them than the rest of the Platform altogether, frantically hooting owls included.

From then on, more and more people arrived to crowd the area and one by one all of their muggleborn friends trickled in, shouting greetings at each other and loudly proclaiming their awe at the now faintly humming scarlet locomotive and their excitement at finally leaving for a magic school.

They quickly gathered in a cluster, sharing chatters and jokes and commenting on everyone they saw around them.

Harry and Sky would automatically meat each other's eyes whenever they recognized someone from their past future, feeling as if they were sharing a private joke.

Harry kept 'her' eyes out for a certain adventurous toad, though. 'She'd' set himself a specific goal for the coming train ride, and Trevor was a key part of its success.

Finally, despite the growing confusion and chaotic comings and goings, 'she' spotted Lady Longbottom's hat, stuffed vulture and everything.

Signalling Sky, who, as prearranged between them, distracted the others with some funny tale or other, the agile girl slipped towards the old Lady, deftly dodging students, trunks, pets and assorted obstacles.

'She' almost laughed out loud when the wayward toad practically jumped in 'her' hands. _Perfect!_

Lady Longbottom was berating Neville for forgetting something, so Harry decided to generously rescue their once and hopefully future friend from her grasp instead of waiting.

"Excuse me?"

They both startled, turning to 'her'. Neville's Gran arched an eyebrow, clearly not pleased by the intrusion.

'She' sketched a curtsey, mentally thanking his foresight in getting Julia to teach 'her' how to do it properly. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Madam, but…" 'She' turned to Neville; "is this toad yours, by any chance?"

"Trevor!" cried the boy delighted. "Thanks, where did you find him? I hadn't even noticed he was gone!"

"Oh, Neville!" sighed his Gran, shaking her head dejectedly. Harry had to fight down the laugh at seeing the stuffed vulture's wings flap feebly.

"It's alright, I saw him jump out of your pocket, thought you might get worried if he went missing", 'she' told him with a friendly smile. "My name is Hermione Granger, though a lot of my friends call me Leia. And you are… Neville? Did I get it right?"

"Y-yes… N-neville Longbottom", he answered nervously. "Why would they call you Leia? It's not a shortening of Hermione, is it?" He seemed bewildered.

'She' shrugged. "No, it's a nickname… it's from a movie", 'she' explained.

Neville looked lost.

'She' giggled: "You look like I do when someone mentions flying broomsticks or… or centaurs, I don't know…" 'She' smiled widely "I guess you're wizard-raised?"

Neville nodded, looking a bit intimidated, but Harry wasn't deterred. "Cool. I didn't even know about magic until Professor McGonagall came with my letter, but it's all so exciting, you know? Are you a first year too?"

"Y-yes…"

"Oh, good! Do you want to come meet my friends then? You can sit with us if you like. Or do you already have a group of your own? We're all muggle-raised though, I hope that's not a problem…"

Neville frantically shook his head. "N-no! I-I mean yes! I mean…"

Harry kindly put a hand on his arm. "It's ok. Take a deep breath. I know I talk too fast, Sky's always harping on me for it. I'm sorry I confused you…"

Neville smiled a little, apparently relaxing. "You talk fine. I'm just a bit clumsy is all. A-and it's ok to be Muggleborn. I mean, it doesn't matter. I mean… i-it's cool, too. Can I really sit with your friends?" he asked hopefully.

Harry slipped 'her' arm under his and cheerfully exclaimed: "Come on! They'll love to meet someone from an actual wizarding family… May I introduce you to our parents, Madam?" 'She' added, belatedly remembering the presence of Neville's Gran.

The old lady looked very pleased and gave 'her' a regal nod: "You may, Miss… Granley?"

Harry smiled. "Granger, Madam. This way!" and 'she' dragged Neville through the jumble of people and luggage.

As 'she' was introducing the new boy to the group and they sorted themselves out of introductions, three girls came up to them.

"What's this I hear about a compartment of firsties?" merrily asked a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails that Harry instantly recognized as Hannah Abbot: she hadn't changed much over the years, he idly thought, nor had Susan Bones who was smiling next to her. The third, he couldn't place.

"I'm Hannah, and these are my friends, Susan and Daphne", said Hannah. Huh, Daphne who?

No matter, they were all welcomed cheerfully, as was none other than Seamus Finnigan, who somehow tripped and crashed from behind into Dean, who scrabbled about trying to steady himself and only managed to drag down Justin, who was helping Lavender up the train step and made her lose her balance and fall with a shrill cry on poor Susan, who was unable to stay upright and dropped on top of the Irish boy who'd started the whole disaster, so that they all ended up sprawled on the floor and shouting crossly at each other, while everybody around them laughed themselves silly.

They kept laughing and chatting merrily all through the complex undertaking of arranging themselves in a compartment despite the shortage of space (they ended up stuffing all their luggage in one and claiming the next for themselves, happily sitting on the floor as well as the seats).

Later, when the train was speeding along the green countryside, after cycling through families, wizarding games and sweets, the conversation predictably turned to the Hogwarts Houses.

Harry found 'herself' scowling in annoyance at Neville's self-deprecating words about 'not being brave enough for Gryffindor'.

The fierce look in the eyes of a fifteen year old, injured and facing the Cruciatus at the hands of a deranged psychopath who'd destroyed his parents already, yet roaring defiantly "DON'D GIB ID DO DEM, HARRY!", flashed in his mind and he sat up sharply.

"Neville, what is bravery?" 'She' asked out of the blue, knowing reassurances wouldn't work right now, but determined to make the other boy see his point.

Neville looked at the expectant girl in confusion. "Huh?"

"What is bravery?" Harry asked again, patiently.

Neville opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then darted a pleading look around the compartment, clearly hoping for some help from the others, who'd fallen quiet watching the exchange.

Most looked completely clueless, but Sky's piercing emerald eyes showed that _'he_' had an answer.

"Bravery is the quality of spirit that enables you to face danger or pain, without showing fear", Sky said in the silence.

Harry bit back an unfriendly comment about answering questions correctly being such a deeply ingrained habit in Hermione that she could clearly not suppress the urge, even when it was clear he was trying to make a point to Neville; then he bit back another one about sounding like a damn thesaurus; _then_ he turned back to Neville once more.

"Bravery means getting up again after you fall. It means going on anyhow even if you're afraid or embarrassed. It means doing what you're afraid to do, just because it's right to do it. It means standing up to your opponents, yes, but it also means standing up to your friend if what they're doing is wrong. Sometimes bravery is doing something dramatically dangerous and spectacular, true, but a lot of the time courage is just the little voice at the end of the day that says 'I'll try again tomorrow'. Even if you're embarrassed, or dejected, or fear you'll never manage... courage is getting up and trying anyway. I think you have that kind of bravery, Neville. I think you're plenty brave enough for Gryffindor!"

Neville looked astounded. Sky was half-smiling.

All of the others looked like they didn't know how to breach the silence, until Seamus let out a low whistle and declared mockingly: "Good evening to you worthy friends… please, please, come closer… have a look... the finest merchandise this side of the river Jordan, pearls of wisdom on sale today, come on down!"

They all burst out in roaring laughter, so much so that a prefect peeped in to check if everything was all right, setting them off again.

* * *

Hermione wondered if it was wrong of her to pretend being worried about her trunk just so her mum would take the time to examine it again with her.

The fact was, she missed them so badly.

More than she would have expected to, truth be told.

She'd never had any qualms spending her holidays with the Weasleys, even ditching her parents outright (what she wouldn't give, _now_, to go skiing with them…) and she'd erased their memories of her with very little hesitation.

Sure she'd had good reason and taken comfort in that. Sure it had hurt. But in the end she hadn't thought much of it… she hadn't been bothered by the idea of remaining alone at all (though to be honest, she knew she would still have Harry and Ron).

Now however… perhaps because she couldn't take them for granted anymore, perhaps because she felt like she'd been _replaced_ – though of course she couldn't blame them, or Harry for that matter – but… seeing them with _Harry_ was a constant, dull ache in her heart.

She found herself constantly trying to steal some time with them with the flimsiest excuses, up to and included helping with the household chores she used to hate.

Of course, she couldn't complain about her situation much.

She'd been rescued from _those three_ a lot sooner than she'd imagined, for starters. And hadn't that been an adventure in and of itself?

True, she'd worked for it… when her parents had come to pick 'him' up for Justin's party, she'd made sure to drop some carefully thought-out, excited comments on how _those three_ had been so scared of Hagrid that they'd given 'him' an actual bedroom.

As she knew she would, Julia had pounced on that titbit and gently coaxed more out of 'him' with careful questions.

Even if she expected it, though, Hermione had still felt fierce pride and love at her parents' immediate concern and care for a child in need, even if 'he' was virtually a stranger to them.

She had tried her best to give her mother enough information to prompt her to act while still remaining true to Harry's distaste in talking about himself. It had come out as a very awkward talk, but she felt it was worth it: whether she managed to Switch the two of them back or not, her parents would make sure 'Harry' didn't remain in Surrey one day more than was necessary, next summer.

And in the meanwhile…

'He'd' been sent to open the door one morning and 'he'd' come face to face with… well, her own face, and behind that, her parents smiling grimly.

They'd barged into the Dursleys' household with saccharine, overbearing politeness and David and Julia had remained downstairs to completely overwhelm Petunia and the gaping Ball of Lard with plans for the rest of summer that _those three_ would get absolutely no say in; while 'Hermione' had practically dragged 'him' upstairs, sweetly demanding to be shown 'his' room and packing up everything with swift efficiency.

Then, Harry had completely taken her (and judging by their expressions, her parents too) off guard when 'she'd' pretended to 'recognize' Mrs Figg's house and had insisted in visiting the old lady 'who'd helped her so'. Hermione hadn't even realized Harry had told her parents about the Apparition mishap.

Her best friend had hurriedly muttered to her in mid-voice that it was better Dumbledore was informed of 'Harry's' whereabouts, before a national search was called and scared the Grangers for good. Well, she could see the sense in that, she supposed, but it was still awfully rash!

She'd felt positively terrified inside while she watched 'Hermione' charmingly chat with the old Squib, boldly calling attention to the incongruities in their situation.

'Oh, what a coincidence it was, that her new friend lived so near where she'd accidentally ended up' and 'wasn't it brilliant, that 'Harry' had accidentally crashed into her in the bookshop? Why, they might never have met otherwise…' and 'Harry was coming to stay with her for a few days, wasn't that fabulous?' – _what was Harry thinking?_

Mrs Figg had looked like a gaping fish for most of the visit, rendered speechless, Hermione guessed, by the rather unlikely situation and by the lively girl's charming ways.

'He', for 'his' part, hadn't felt up to much beyond petting the various cats that seemed to have taken an instant liking to 'him'; 'he'd' barely managed to stumble through the rightful 'shock at finding out my babysitter is a witch (well, a Squib, but still) yet has never told me that I'm a wizard, and a famous one at that'.

Mrs Figg seemed to be really embarrassed by that, so 'he'd' limited 'himself' to regarding the old lady sadly with soulful eyes. She was pretty sure it had worked to make the poor woman feel horribly guilty anyway.

Her parents had been properly grateful for her help and had promised to keep in touch, since the old Squib was part of their daughter's new world but unlike most others under such label, did have a phone.

Mrs Figg had winked at 'Hermione' and whispered "Best of both worlds, see?" making Harry laugh.

They'd taken tea with the old lady and her many cats, then left without any major happening, much to Hermione's relief and surprise.

And so she'd spent the last fortnight of summer in her own home, with her parents nearby, and with her best friend to boot.

Which was _brilliant, _no matter how strange it was to see said best friend with bushy brown hair – now fashionably short, courtesy of Harry's impatience with tangled locks and Lavender's style-related exuberance – and prominent front teeth. Or how hard she found to remember not to go to her own bedroom rather than the guest room at night.

She sighed, glancing around the as of yet deserted platform, trying to distract herself from the knot of worry twisting in her stomach. Thankfully her nervousness was interpreted as excitement, because she was too preoccupied going over everything that might go wrong in the next few days to bother concealing it.

Her dad was hugging Harry… no, _Leia_. They had agreed on nicknames and she should really start making an effort to think of her best friend as 'Leia' – and, most importantly, as a _girl_.

She thought she might be able to do that; thinking of _herself_ as a _boy_, now that was quite harder!  
She was still startled every morning when Harry's emerald eyes looked out at her from the mirror!

Julia got 'him' to start loading the trunks on the train and that – as she should have known – marked the start of yet another Hedwig-tantrum. Honestly, what did that blasted bird have against her Archimedes?

She left Har- _Leia_ nauseatingly cooing to the spoilt owl and concentrated on greeting Justin who'd just arrived, accompanied by as big a production as two hyperactive little brothers could contrive.

Platform Nine and Three-quarters slowly filled with increasingly more frantic families, who unknowingly cooperated in turning the grey, silent area in a jumble of colourful things spread everywhere – trunks, cages, suitcases, chests, bags, packages, loose clothes and a thousand other things – and a cacophony of the most various noises.

'He' couldn't help smiling widely as one by one all of the other members of their little group arrived and 'he' started to eagerly take part in the chats that sprang up all around 'him'.

'He' kept a covert eye out for red-heads all the time.

She knew Harry didn't want to meet them… she couldn't understand why, but he'd been most adamant.

The icy gaze did not suit her chocolate brown eyes at all, mused Hermione as she recalled looking at herself from Harry's body and feeling uneasy.

He'd gone on and on about Ron being untrustworthy. It filled her with sadness to think that her generous, loving best friend could keep a grudge like this.

So Ron had abandoned them. Okay. Undeniable. He _had _left.

But one, there had been extenuating circumstances – she was _sure_ that thrice-damned locket had something to do with his cruel words.

Two, they hadn't made it easy for him to come back: they had been on the run, after all, and she'd performed their security spells herself, she knew how powerful they were; so how could Harry blame him for not returning? Granted, she had planned _in detail_ how to make him pay (dearly!) when he got back; but she'd never doubted he would, indeed, come back eventually.

Three, they had all lost faith in each other at one point or the other – or got so angry that they almost felt their friendship wouldn't survive, yet they'd always got through, so why was this time different for him?

And finally… he couldn't seriously think of 'punishing' _this_ Ron – eleven year old, rather insecure, definitely tactless Ron – for the mistakes (whether big or small) of his grown-up counterpart? There was no way she'd accept this!

She couldn't understand Harry at all; not on this issue.

She hadn't approached the subject again after a rather tense discussion, but she still felt it hanging over them.

It saddened her that such a rift existed between them, but… Harry wouldn't budge, and she couldn't accept.

At least it was mostly up to her to fix things. After all, it was 'Harry' who had befriended Ron the first time – she'd come in only later. Well, 'Harry' would befriend Ron once more, if not on the train then after they were Sorted and sharing a dorm, and _Leia_ would just have to live with it.

Hermione blinked, realizing she'd been staring at her best friend for a while without realizing it, and that 'she' was now signalling 'him'.

She sighed. Right. Operation Get Neville. She scowled, irritated: how was she supposed to 'distract' everybody, pray tell? And why on earth was Harry so keen on befriending Neville if he didn't want Ron? If he thought she was going to accept a 'replacement', he had another thing coming!

Feeling vindictive, 'he' launched in a lively tale of 'Hermione' getting drenched with the hose pipe over the summer, to the amusement of the boys and the indignation of Lavender, then went on with an adaptation of a prank the Twins had inflicted on Ron (though her version had Harry targeting his bully of a cousin).

'He' had them all laughing by the time 'Hermione' finally came back, Neville and his Gran in tow. Lady Longbottom surely made an impression on all of their parents.

'He' laughed heartily with all the others when Seamus Finnigan literally crashed the party and was delighted when Hannah and Susan joined them too – though it puzzled her that Daphne Greengrass, better known throughout Hogwarts as Queenie Daphne the Icy and, if rumour had it right, Parkinson's greatest competition to the Ferret's hand (and above all, money), was friendly and at ease with a group of obvious Muggleborns.

Was it being Sorted into Slytherin that had changed this lively, funny girl into the cold, arrogant and prissy would-be lady Hermione remembered from her Ancient Runes class?

Before she knew it, they were all ensconced in a compartment that would have been deemed far too small by anyone except a group of friends having fun.

The train ride was rather quiet, or as quiet as ten eager eleven year olds with far too much sugar in their veins could make it, at any rate.

Then Leia surprised her with 'her' little lesson on the meaning of 'courage'. 'She' was really serious about befriending Neville, apparently.

Hermione kept covertly observing her friend, wondering about him, and Ron, and Neville, and what was going on in Harry's head, while the others dealt with the bewildered prefect, who soon resorted to threaten them with horror tales of Peeves to get them to quiet down. Poor boy. He clearly wasn't suited to his badge, she thought.

If she hadn't been paying attention, though, she would have missed the alarming glint that Leia's eyes acquired listening to the prefect and the speculating glances she cast Terry's way. Her friend was plotting something, she just knew it. What, though… it was anyone's guess.

Oh, well. She would find out… probably just in time to get dragged along into whatever side-effects the plan would surprise Harry with…

In the meanwhile, she had her own personal 'goal for the train ride' to accomplish.

'He' cleared 'his' throat to gain attention and started: "So I've been thinking long and hard…"

"Did that hurt?" quipped Seamus.

Sky smiled sweetly: "Actually, no. I have good practice, see… been doin' it all my life…" and 'he' stuck out her tongue childishly.

"Oooh… good one, Potter!" exclaimed Daphne as the group dissolved in laughter once again.

"Here's what I _think_", 'he' stressed the word to – hopefully – get the others to listen. "There are ten of us, right? So it's rather unlikely that we'll got Sorted all in the same House."

Everybody sobered. A few looked worried or uncomfortable, a few shrugged unconcernedly.

Susan pointed out: "Well, we wouldn't even want to. After all, some of us have different wishes for their Sorting."

Sky nodded. "Okay. But what I was thinking is… we shouldn't let this come between us."

Daphne frowned. "What do you mean?"

Leia, who'd caught up with her plan, answered swiftly: "That even if we're in different Houses, we should all remain friends anyway!"

There was a chorus of 'Of course!', 'Well, obviously!' and 'No problem!' but Daphne's sceptical tone overcame them all: "That might not be so simple. As far as I know, House rivalries are serious business."

Neville added: "Yeah, the other students won't let us stay friend, I'm afraid…"

Leia asked coolly: "And we care about what they think _why_, exactly?"

Neville blushed, but Sky noticed that Justin's passionate diatribe about 'friendship overcoming all obstacles' didn't appear to be very convincing to the others.

Time to try her idea then. "Actually, I think there's a way to stay friends and see each other regularly without anyone interfering", 'he' said.

Now they looked interested.

"Really? What?" asked Hannah eagerly.

Sky smiled: "A club."

'He' sat back on 'his' seat smugly, watching them process the idea.

"What, like the Charms Club you mean?"

"Something about sports!"

"Charms Club? What's that?"

"God no, not sports! That would be so horrid!"

"There's the Quidditch House Teams already…"

"I heard of it from a friend of mine, they meet up and research weird Charms, funny or useful, that have fallen out of fashion…"

"I don't mean Quidditch, I mean some proper sport!"

"Like what? How can a Charm fall out of fashion?"

"Why don't we do a Fashion Club instead, that would be fantastic!"

"Would a Club even be allowed? We're just first years..."

"Quidditch _is_ a proper sport! Quidditch is the _best_ sport!"

"Who the hell would be interested in _fashion_?"

"Well, I guess it's a matter of trends…"

"Football is ten times better!"

"What do you mean, it's not interesting! Of course it is!"

A shrill whistle put an abrupt end to the mishmash of conversations-bordering-quarrels.

Everybody stared at Leia, who smirked back undauntedly. "Order! Order!" 'She' called importantly, miming a Judge hammering the sound-block to silence an unruly bunch in the courtroom.

The general chuckling relaxed the atmosphere, so Sky attempted to go on. "All right, it's clear we need to come up with something that everybody will agree upon, but at least are you ok with the idea?"

The 'Yes!' was unanimous.

"Then", took over Leia, "we should all think on this and prepare a proposal, then after the first day of class we meet, say, in the Library and we'll vote one! What say you?"

"Perfect!" they all agreed.

Only Daphne remained unconvinced. "Are we sure we can do this? Won't people make our lives difficult because of it?"

Terry and Justin cried outraged that nothing was going to stop _them_ from hanging up with their friends, but Daphne merely shot them a cold and cynical look. Maybe Queenie the Icy was already lurking in her after all, thought Hermione.

"Don't worry, Daphne", 'he' said. "I looked it all up in the Hogwarts Rules and Regulations. All we have to do is inform, _inform_ mind you, not ask permission or anything, our Head of House that we're joining such-and-such Club. They can only stop us if they can prove that the stuff we're doing is dangerous."

She had, in fact, looked it up. There was a little more to it than what she related, but the essentials were all there.

Daphne appeared impressed. "You _looked it up_? You're full of surprises, Potter!"

Sky caught Leia's mirthful eye and quickly diverted 'his' gaze, to avoid bursting in laughter. _You have no idea, Queenie_.

"So… we're doing this?" asked Lavender sounding a bit uncertain.

"Yes", answered Leia firmly, and everybody smiled.

It was a cheerful bunch of kids who went to meet Hagrid on the tiny, dark Hogsmeade platform, led straight to him by the confident gait of Leia and Sky.

Other first years, looking far more nervous and a bit lost in the cold night air, trickling joined them, beckoned by the half-giant's booming welcome.

Down the slippery, steep path they tripped and stumbled, stifling laughter and curses in equal measure, and Hermione marvelled at how different everything seemed from her first time, when nobody spoke much and there was only nervousness, sniffles and dark, dark trees.

Then the narrow path opened suddenly onto the edge of the great black lake and Hermione gasped with all the others, awed.

Turrets, towers and barbicans of the vast, familiar castle were all dotted with sparkling windows, enchanting and welcoming under the starry sky.

She felt so amazed.

So what if she'd seen it before?

Hogwarts was still breathtaking!

* * *

_A/N: __Acknowledgments__. _

"_Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow." Is a quote by writer and designer Mary Anne Radmacher._

"_The finest merchandise this side of the river Jordan" is from Disney's Aladdin; Archimedes is Merlin's familiar in Disney's The Sword in the Stone._

_Edit: It has been pointed out to me that the original name of Princess Organa is 'Leia'. Huh... I guess 'Leila' is just in the Italian version (without the 'l' it does sound a bit odd to me after all). My apologies - I've corrected the mishap, and many thanks to luvsanime02 for telling me!_ _~Luna_


	8. 8 Getting Sorted

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others,__ especially J.. I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N: Just as a reminder… 'Sky' is Hermione in Harry's body; 'Leia' is Harry in Hermione's body.__ Single quotes generally indicate what people not privy to the Switch see._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_8. Getting Sorted_

Harry smiled openly at the stern looking Professor that Hagrid delivered them to.

He was rather amused by the flash of surprise in her eyes when she caught sight of 'the first years': they were clearly an unusual bunch in her experience.

Harry vaguely remembered that the First Time they had been a nervous cluster of rather frightened children, torn between huddling together, grabbing the nearest age-mate in their anxiety, and being too shy to share the experience with virtual strangers.

This time, the children that had been in their compartment on the train made for an eager group of happy friends, secure in the knowledge that whatever they were about to face, at least they had their pals beside them; he was rather proud of this, because he knew it was mainly his doing.

Smaller groups and a few loners were all gravitating towards them and he spotted quite more than a couple of half-envious, half-longing gazes. There might be room for expanding Sky's 'Club', whatever that turned out to be in the end.

McGonagall's eyebrows rose sharply when she recognized 'her' at the heart of the confident group, then 'Harry' at 'her' side, then the Muggleborns she'd given a tour of the Alley, and finally the Purebloods they'd 'recruited' on the train.

Harry had a hard time stifling his laughter at the wonderment briefly visible all over her face. He guessed they made a rather striking show among all the other scared-looking children.

But McGonagall hadn't been a teacher for three and a half decades for nothing. Before anyone who didn't know her well could notice, she pulled herself together, quickly thanked and dismissed Hagrid and led the new students inside, with the same no-nonsense attitude and the very same speech as the first time.

Feeling – almost more than seeing – the much-loved stone walls lit with flaming torches all around him, Harry breathed deeply in, taking in the tingling scent of magic that permeated the air.

_Home_.

The flagged stone floor, the ceiling too high to make out, the magnificent marble staircase, the drone of hundreds of voices from the doorway to their right…

Everything was familiar, well-known, and much longed for.

As they followed Professor McGonagall across the huge Entrance Hall and into the small, empty chamber off the hall, Harry found himself beaming at everything.

He was oddly pleased recognizing that weird spot on the wall that Filch used to complain about endlessly and that had given rise to rumours about its origins even weirder than the ones concerning _him_. Or the suit of armour known to all upperclassmen as 'Sir Shy' because of his habit of peeping out of corners and clanking hurriedly away if spotted.

He'd missed this place more than he'd admitted to himself.

After Dumbledore's death, he'd seriously worried he wouldn't see it ever again…

And now, he was home once more.

He couldn't stop smiling – but then again, why should he?

He was back where he belonged and in less than an hour he would be safely Sorted into Gryffindor once again and ready to put his and Hermione's plans into motion at last.

They'd spent so much time going over everything in their letters that he felt more than ready to start _doing _something.

Well… they hadn't planned for _everything,_ he amended with a sudden uneasiness. There were a couple things they had not even touched – one in particular – but he quickly dismissed that thought altogether. There was nothing he could do for it after all, not without jeopardizing the entire war and he was not ready to do that.

It left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that he was reasoning 'for the Greater Good', after having lived through being a pawn in such a game himself, but it sure did wonders to help him understand Dumbledore better and better.

'She' shook 'her' head fiercely. No sense in dwelling on this right now. It was time to be 'Leia' and get properly Sorted.

Besides… with McGonagall gone for the moment and everybody peering about nervously, distracted, it was the perfect opportunity to share his scheme with Terry.

Earlier on the train he'd had an inspiration… a very wicked idea that involved a certain annoying poltergeist and a certain movie the group had rented over the summer… Dragging the other boy aside, 'she' hurriedly whispered 'her' proposal to a very receptive would-be partner-in-crime.

Confabulating with Terry made him miss how Sky handled the 'Malfoy confrontation' they had mercifully been spared on the train, but that was just as well.

He didn't really want to deal with the blond git. Plus, Sky seemed to have everything well in hand: there hadn't even been any wand-drawing or shouted insults or anything. Clearly, his best friend had more patience than the jerk warranted and _much_ more control than Harry could have mustered.

In fact… he suspected that Sky had 'won' the round by a landslide, judging by the faces around them. He would have to get the whole story later: many were giving 'Harry Potter' confused, considering or even slightly wary looks.

Malfoy for his part looked pale and angry and… worried? Not that Harry spared him more than a glance.

It was Sky he was interested in observing: the green eyed boy looked positively smug and also… giddy!

The ghosts made their grand entrance and when they mentioned Peeves 'Leia' shared a conspiratorial wink with Terry. The other boy sported a wicked smile and Sky wasn't the only one shooting them suspicious looks. Oh yeah, Terry was in all the way. Harry tried very hard to look angelic – sadly 'she' only drew a snort from his best friend at the attempt.

Sky didn't say anything however and didn't seem about to pester him about his plotting with Terry. Whatever had gone on with Malfoy, it had given Hermione some deep satisfaction. Sky was smiling like 'he' was on high!

That his friend was feeling silly was proved true when Sky gave 'Leia' a flourished bow – in full view of everyone! – and offered 'his' arm to her best friend.

Harry caught McGonagall's amused eyes: she'd entered just in time to witness the little scene.

Barely containing his mirth, 'Leia' sank into a curtsey – good thing 'she'd' gotten Julia to teach 'her'! – and mock-pompously took the offered arm.

'She' heard Terry's yelp when Lavender poked him in the ribs, hissing "Well, what are you waiting for?" and 'she' glanced behind just in time to see the poor boy being dragged in the line by the determined blonde hanging from his arm, and further behind, an awfully embarrassed Neville shyly offering his arm to a blushing Hannah.

Then there was a general scraping and muttering and giggling as all the other boys tried to determine whether the remaining girls would allow them to get away without escorting them or not.

'She' almost laughed out loud when 'she' caught sight of Daphne glaring someone he was almost sure was Theodore Nott into a hasty bow and Pansy Parkinson scowling at Draco Malfoy, who apparently was too busy complaining about Harry and Hermione being 'first' to notice her.

'She' smirked at the blond. Harry and Hermione would be 'first' in _a lot _of things, this time around!

McGonagall seemed torn between being proud and laughing at them outright as she surveyed the fumbling children arranging themselves into pairs.

Then she turned smartly around and flung the doors to the Great Hall open.

Harry took a deep breath. _Here we go_, he thought. And let his best friend lead 'her' into the bright cheering room.

* * *

It was a good thing he'd steeled himself for _weeks _against the inevitable reaction to seeing his old teachers, including… Snape.

As he'd recited to himself over and over since he and Hermione had finalized their strategy to deal with him, they had _plans_ for the traitorous murderer, all they needed was a bit of patience.

Thus he was able to ignore the upsurge of loathing with relative ease; not so Hermione, who faltered at 'Leia's' side and barely got 'himself' under control by the time they reached the High Table.

Well, he _had_ warned her, time and again, that it was going to be a shock, but did she listen?

All he could do now was exclaim loudly over the enchanted ceiling, so that everybody's attention would be on that rather than 'Harry'.

Before he even realized it, McGonagall's stentorian voice was already ringing in the nearly silent Hall.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A moment of pause…

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry clapped loudly, whooping for her, and it took only a fraction of an instant for Sky to join, and less than a second for the rest of their group to follow their example, quickly imitated by Neville and Susan, and even Daphne.

Some other first years joined half-heartedly, a bit uncertain, and then there were so few left out that they felt embarrassed for not having participated and hurriedly added a few claps of their own.

The Hufflepuff table faltered for an instant in its cheers, the students looking rather stunned, but they quickly rallied, evidently coming to the conclusion that it was a good thing, for Harry spotted wide smiles on most faces.

Some of those faces he couldn't place, some were more familiar and one…

One face with chiselled features belonged to a fairly tall, handsome boy with a straight nose, dark hair, and bright grey eyes.

Harry stifled a cry and grabbed Sky's hand painfully hard.

For all his preparation, for all his planning and precautions and foresight, seeing Cedric again – alive! – was a bolt from the blue.

He looked so good (_alive!_) – so happy and relaxed and popular and- and _alive!_

For a second that contained an eternity, Harry felt as if the past, present and future were blending disagreeably into one another, so that he didn't know anymore what he was really seeing: the lively eyes full of merriment or the blank ones, as expressionless as the windows of a deserted house? The smiling lips mouthing a welcome to Hannah or the half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised, of a body lying spread-eagled on the ground?

Which was more real? The impossible second chance they'd been granted or the greyscale memory tinged with green, that was etched in his mind forever?

Was Cedric really alive or was it all a senseless dream? Was Harry going to save him this time or was the future going to repeat itself, once more killing Cedric before he even truly lived?

And then, Harry felt a sharp pain on 'her' arm. Sky had pinched 'her' hard enough to leave a bruise.

Harry blinked, feeling as if he was wading towards the surface of a pool of murky water, the cold memories of death and terror from that cursed graveyard fighting to keep him trapped against his best efforts.

On Sky's hissed order, he cheered mechanically for Susan, but his mind was elsewhere entirely. Luckily everybody else was making enough noise that 'her' disheartened clapping wasn't noticed.

Then something happened that very effectively brought his mind back to the Sorting: Terry Boot became a Gryffindor.

Harry felt Sky stiffen beside him and knew he himself was staring in disbelief.

He was quite sure Terry had been a Ravenclaw in their past future: he remembered him from the DA and he had definitely worn blue and bronze then. Most certainly he hadn't been in Harry's own dorm!

Not that he minded, of course, but…

What did that mean for him? For Hermione?

He'd taken for granted that the Sorting would stay the same! How could they have changed something so monumental? What if they had changed so much they would not go to Gryffindor? Oh, Merlin, what if they were separated? He needed Hermione! He wasn't going to make it alone, not with his sanity intact! Besides he was a Gryffindor! They both were! They had been for _years_! It was where they belonged!  
But a nasty little voice was murmuring doubts… oh, no, what if he ended up in Slytherin this time? Would 'she' even survive, as a Muggleborn among the snakes? Would he be able to stand sharing a dorm with Death Eaters wannabe? What would that do to their plans? What would he do without Hermione at his side?

By the time McGonagall reached "Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" Harry was panicking badly, different scenarios running through his mind and making his stomach churn and twist.

Finnigan…

But he was being ridiculous, he _was_ a Gryffindor, how could he be anything else?

Goldstein…

It was years ago that he'd been considered for Slytherin… and really, there was no better place for him than Gryffindor…

Goyle…

And if the stupid Hat didn't see this glaringly obvious truth for itself, well Harry would just have to show it!

"Granger, Hermione!"

'Leia' marched up to the stool, head held high and a confident smile plastered to 'her' face. 'She' hoped nobody noticed that 'she' was holding 'her' hands in fists so tight 'her' nails were almost drawing blood.

There was only one way to do this…

"Gryffindor", Harry started chanting in his mind, while the Hat wasn't even still on 'her', "I'm a Gryffindor; Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…"

The Hat chuckled and murmured in his mind: "Gryffindor? Perhaps. Let's have a look…"

"No", Harry denied, "Gryffindor. Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…"

He kept reciting the same word over and over without pause: "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…"

The Hat sounded a bit annoyed: "It's not a 'pick your favourite' contest, you know: saying the word over and over won't help you get your wish! You don't get to choose, child."

Harry was tempted to point out that he _had_ chosen the First Time, so obviously the option was there, but he refused to let himself be distracted from his mantra. The only thoughts he allowed for longer than an instant were of red and gold – not red and gold _things_, just the colours, the Gryffindor colours.

They provided a sort of background to his litany: "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…"

"Oh, fine, whatever! Have it your way then!" exploded the Hat irately.

Harry fought down the smirk and the impulse of crowing in delight and instead kept up his mantra without faltering – it wasn't official yet after all.

Eventually, the Hat sighed.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted.

With a whoop of joy, 'Leia' wrenched it away and sauntered to the red and gold table, bestowing 'her' attractive smile to 'her' new Housemates.

Perhaps because of 'her' bright attitude, perhaps because of the genuine elation 'she' didn't bother to hide, the cheering 'she' received was as loud and boisterous as he'd received the First Time as 'Harry' – lacking only the Weasley Twins' victory dance: 'she' didn't register this at all however.

'She' merely plopped happily down next to an ecstatic Lavender and studied 'her' old-new Housemates, rememorizing their faces. 'She' determinedly avoided looking at the High Table: all the teachers were well known already and it wasn't worth risking a Legilimency probe.

Though immensely relieved at being where he belonged, he remained on edge until 'Harry Potter' was declared a Gryffindor too. Then, and only then, 'Leia' accepted to relax and enjoy the Feast… despite the pang at seeing Sky eagerly welcome Ron, who collapsed on the seat next to him looking immensely relieved.

Well. He'd known it would come to this of course. Sky was soon chatting friendly with the redhead and Harry felt torn between screaming at 'him' to stop and simply getting up and taking 'his' place. Both options were ridiculous of course, and Harry could only do his best to ignore his two best friends as they unwittingly excluded him.

At least he was distracted enough from his sadness by Neville chatting endlessly on one side of him and Lavender on the other.

He couldn't help 'her' eyes straying to Cedric every few minutes though. It was just so _good_ to see him, not a pale accusing corpse in his nightmares, but alive and well, laughing with his friends.

Perhaps predictably, Lavender noticed 'her' odd behaviour and leaning close, whispered: "Why do you keep looking at the Hufflepuffs? Is there someone interesting there?" she winked and giggled.

Leia froze, like a deer caught in headlights. What could 'she' say to explain it away?

But Lavender did everything herself: "Oooh!" she squealed. "Herm, you have a crush! This is so fantastic! Who is it, who is it? Tell me!"

"What? No!... I… No!" 'she' spluttered and blushed, completely shocked. He was so traumatized by the idea that he didn't even notice the exuberant blonde had finally shortened 'her' name, just like he'd feared she would.

What kind of ridiculous, preposterous, completely absurd… _excellent cover_, supplied his drawling Inner Slytherin Voice – most unhelpfully in his opinion.

So what if it would be an excellent cover up? It was still ludicrous!

True, girls became positively weird when they pined on someone. He should know, their behaviour around him in sixth year had been nothing short of absurd. Not to mention Ginny's silliness early on!

He winced internally. He'd take even that now… well, no, he wouldn't, since Hermione was still him and his chest monster was stirring at the ludicrous idea of Ginny mooning over _her_ and… damn, he was confusing himself. And the point wasn't Ginny. The point was _Cedric_.

He sighed as he felt the smugness of his Inner Slytherin. It was awkward, it was embarrassing as all hell but… pretending to have a crush on the handsome Hufflepuff would cover any oddity 'she' risked doing or blurting out around the older boy.

He could even say without lying that he felt his stomach flutter any time he caught sight of the Hufflepuff (alive!) – it just had nothing to do with 'love' and everything to do with guilt clashing with relief clashing with hope clashing with fear of failing him again.

With a mental groan he swallowed his pride and murmured, blushing furiously: "The dark haired one with gre- _silver_ eyes… next to the brown haired girl with the yellow ribbon in her ponytail…"

Lavender squealed how 'absolutely fabulous' it was and rambled on about 'how cute' Cedric was and 'I wonder what his name is' and 'Do you think he's got a girlfriend? He's such a cutie after all…' and 'Herm, you've got such good taste!'

Leia blushed, completely mortified. He tried his best to block out the rest of Lavender's gushing.

He was already regretting going along with this farce, no matter how sensible an explanation it was, it wasn't worth the embarrassment!

Lavender was involving Parvati now and the Indian girl was already scanning the Hufflepuff table avidly and giggling madly.

I'm doomed, thought Harry.

He met Sky's interrogative look across the table but couldn't muster up the strength to explain. He felt like beating his head on the table. Repeatedly.

Lavender's voice filtered alarmingly to his consciousness. "Oooh, we must find out his schedule! That way Herm can go watch him between classes!"

Doomed. Doomed. Doomed.

* * *

'Leia' was uncharacteristically quiet during the rest of the Feast, but between Sky and Ron's bond growing literally under 'her' eyes and 'her' roommates still giggling over what he was already labelling 'the Cedric fiasco' in his mind, Harry couldn't be bothered to care.

'She' let Sky handle the wild speculations flaring through the group after Dumbledore's little speech. He couldn't care less about gossip, had decided as much after his fifth year. If Hermione still wanted to fight that losing battle, though, he wouldn't stop her.

Not that he expected it to work if he tried. S.P.E.W., anyone?

When Percy gathered them to lead the way to Gryffindor Tower however he perked up.

If Peeves stayed true to form, this was their chance! And with Terry here instead that with the Ravens, they wouldn't have to wait!

The perspective cheered him up immensely.

Most of the group was already yawning and dragging their feet up the long staircases, when Harry finally spotted the bundle of walking sticks floating in midair ahead of them, just like he remembered.

He bumped Terry and nodded to them to give him a heads up just as the sticks started throwing themselves at the slowly advancing Percy.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves — show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

'Leia' took that as 'her' cue.

"A Poltergeist!" 'she' cried, for all the world in delighted surprise.

Terry promptly repeated, enthusiastically: "A poltergeist, an actual one! Wow, this is such a great opportunity!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we're so lucky!" 'she' whooped.

Percy rounded on them: "Lucky?" he asked in disbelief.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. He came across as both surprised and curious – a look Harry had never seen on him before.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! I wanted to play with you a teensy bit… but why would you think you're lucky to meet little ol' me?"

Terry shouted excitedly: "It is! Hermione! Look! It really is a poltergeist!"

"Perfect!" 'she' yelled gleefully. "Let's get him!"

Both 'she' and Terry lunged at the floating form, who shrieked in shock and jumped away from their reaching hands.

Prefect Jada, the short-haired brunette that shared responsibility with Percy, hollered "Watch out!"

Percy bellowed: "Stand back! The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control Peeves, he won't even listen to us Prefects. You must be careful!"

Terry threw them a disdainful look and stroke a pose: "I ain't afraid of no ghost!"

'Leia' chuckled. 'She' would bet Terry had been hoping for a chance to say that line for real ever since they'd seen _Ghostbusters _over the summer!

"Well you should!" shrieked the girl Prefect, who clearly had never heard the quote before. "Peeves is mostly a nuisance, but on occasion he _can_ be dangerous!"

They paid her absolutely no mind, nor did they give any attention to the poltergeist himself, who seemed to have recovered from his shock and was now advancing on them.

"That's right, Itty Bitty Firsties", he was cackling gleefully again. "You want to watch out for Peeves!"

He lunged at them threateningly, but instead of being frightened, 'Leia' made a grab for him and by sheer dumb luck, actually managed to latch on to an ankle.

It felt weird, as if 'she' was holding a gauze-like substance wrapped over something that only barely had any consistence. It was decidedly unpleasant, but Harry was too surprised to let go.

Peeves screamed and it mixed with Terry's yell: "That's _great!_ Actual physical contact! Can you move? Can you bring him here?"

He was hurriedly spreading all over the floor the items of his 'Mystery Investigation Kit', a set of tools containing everything from a magnifying box for holding and viewing finds to a butterfly net, a flashlight headband, zipper compartments for holding special items and even a small mechanical microscope.

He'd assembled it himself for the sole purpose of (in his own words) "investigating any interesting magical phenomena I'll happen to stumble upon with a proper scientific attitude", since, as he snottily told Sky, "just because I'm a wizard doesn't mean I can't be a scientist!"

When he'd seen it, Harry had had to remind himself that stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum because he wanted one as well was really too childish, even if there weren't any Dursleys to punish him for it any more, and that he wouldn't really know what to do with those things anyway. He was a bit jealous nevertheless.

"Come on, Hermione! I want to analyze him!"

Wow, Terry had really got into the part.

The poltergeist shrieked again and jerked free of the girl's grasp.

"Aww!" exclaimed Terry.

Peeves looked shocked beyond all hell at their behaviour. Harry couldn't really blame him: he doubted anyone else had reacted like this before.

"Are you out of your mind!" screamed Jada.

"Step back at once!" bellowed Percy with authority.

"No way in hell!" Terry actually appeared offended. "This is a wondrous opportunity to expand our research on Parapsychology! I refuse to miss it!"

'Leia' bit the inside of 'her' mouth to keep from laughing. "We can still get him, Terry. It's clear he's tangible, we only have to corner him…"

"You're right, we need to trap him!" Terry was focused entirely on the poltergeist, who now looked almost scared. "I think we should split up!"

"Yeah, we can do more damage that way." 'She' refrained from giggling, but counted as a point for 'her' that 'she'd' managed to sneak in a quote too. Hey, 'she'd' liked the movie just as much, so why should only Terry have fun with it!

They advanced, ignoring the horrified Prefects and their cheering classmates.

Terry was holding out what Harry knew was a simple pair of tweezers, but for some reason it looked _lethal_. It was probably the fanatical glint in his eyes that screamed 'mad scientist'. Harry wished he could imitate it.

"Stay back!" screeched Peeves. "Stay back or I'll… I'll _bite_ you!"

'Leia' stopped, startled – he'd never heard of Peeves attacking a student _directly_. Had they pushed the noisy ghost too far?

But Terry was launched: "Don't worry, Hermione! I've got some Pinkerton's Paragon Detergent with me! It's guaranteed against any ghost, poltergeist and paranormal ectoplasm! It'll disinfect the bite no problem…"

"What?" asked 'Leia' trying desperately not to laugh.

"Yeah, it was tested at Canterville, it'll work for sure!"

'Leia' blinked. Canterville? Now why did that sound familiar?

But 'she' had no time to ask or figure it out. Peeves' eyes went huge, he shrieked again and vanished with a puff to the other side of the corridor, dumping the bunch of sticks he still had on Neville's head and zooming down the corridor in a mad dash, rattling coats of armour as he passed and yelling about 'Crazy Ickle Firsties'.

Harry cheered inside. Success!

Terry and 'Leia' looked at each other for a long moment, then broke into helpless, howling laughter.

Soon they were joined by the rest of their class, under the dumbfounded eyes of the two Prefects.

* * *

After a while, they managed to resume their way towards Gryffindor Tower, with only Terry still chuckling a bit, but all of them much more awake.

In an effort to distract the rather shocked Prefects, 'Leia' pelted them with questions all the way to the Fat Lady's portrait.

'She' mixed spur of the moments ideas and thoughts he'd turned over in his head on many occasions, and soon an interested Parvati was adding her own, with Seamus and Neville providing a lively commentary on most answers.

They discussed Hogwarts' layout, whether or not it was doable to create a map of the castle and the possibility of getting a tour of the main parts of the school. 'Leia' managed to arrange for the two fifth year Prefects to meet the first years in the Common Room the next morning and lead them to the Great Hall, which should avoid any curiosity-rising accidents of 'her' or Sky knowing their way too well.

Then they moved on to another topic 'she' considered important, namely owl-post; 'she' made the Prefects promise they would take all firsties to the Owlery tomorrow and help them send off letters to their families.

By the time the lady in pink satin asked for the password from her portrait frame, Prefect Jada looked rather overwhelmed and nearly ill, while the bespectacled redhead's eyes were alight with enthusiasm and ambitious projects for 'bettering the reception of our newest students' and 'contributing to our responsibility as role-models and helpers'.

As they took turns scrambling through the portrait hole, 'Leia' kept a sleepy Sky behind and murmured: "When are you going to write to Julia and David?"

"Huh?" blinked 'he' looking rather confused.

Leia fidgeted a bit: "Well, you know. I thought… we're in Hogwarts, now, right? So they're not going to know if it's me or you who's writing. I think you can safely keep up correspondence with your parents… though you'll probably have to show me, so I don't get caught off guard if they ask… and I wanted to write too, as Harry I mean, if you don't mind... obviously I'll let you read before sending as well… it should work, I think."

Sky was speechless and Leia frowned. "Do you not want to? I thought this could be the perfect solution…"

Suddenly, 'she' had arms around 'her' and an almost-but-not-quite-sobbing boy squeezing 'her' tightly.

'She' smiled and hugged 'him' back.

Then Ron had to go and ruin the moment by snickering and mocking them. Harry had never sympathized more with Hermione's swatting the immature idiot over the head. Tactless prat indeed.

The boys soon disappeared up their own staircase and 'she' was left to find 'her' way to their room with Lavender and Parvati.

The girls' dorm turned out to be both similar and different from what had once been his. The beds were still four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains, but they came accompanied by a small vanity set that had most certainly never been considered for the boys' dorms.

'Leia' started digging through 'her' trunk for toiletries and pyjamas, letting his two squealing room-mates prattle on without more acknowledgement on 'her' part than vague nodding here and there.

Was understanding their speech patterns an essential part of being a girl, he wondered?

He sure hoped not, because it sounded harder than Advanced Potions.

'She' leaned in the window frame instead and let 'her' gaze wander over the grounds, a contented smile on 'her' face.

He was _home_.

* * *

Hermione frowned when Leia drew Terry aside as they were waiting for the Sorting to start. This was about whatever brainless and very possibly irresponsible idea Harry had had on the train, she just knew it!

She watched them suspiciously. She just hoped it wasn't some idiotic prank. As if they didn't have enough to keep them occupied! All the plans they'd made in their letters were about to be put into motion. This was not the time for immaturity!

'He' took a half step towards them, intent on demanding answer (and perhaps shaking some sense into her best-friend) but 'he' was suddenly distracted by a drawling voice addressing 'Harry Potter'.

'He' tensed.

She so did not need this! No matter that it was expected – the fact that they had somehow avoided the encounter on the train made it all the more likely that Malfoy would approach now.

The blond aristocrat was looking at 'Harry' with a lot of interest. It made her feel queasy.

"So you must be the famous Harry Potter, right?" he started off.

If Hermione's dislike of the spoilt bigot hadn't been deep rooted already, the condescending tone would have cemented it instantly.

"Yes," said 'he'.

She ignored with ease the mean-looking set of bodyguards. Crabbe and Goyle had been an extension of Malfoy for too long for her to pay them any mind.  
On the other hand, she was acutely aware of the many spectators to this little episode: the group of her friends 'at her back', regarding Malfoy neutrally, but also the sharp and focused eyes of many other classmates – most notably the future Slytherins.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy", the blond said. "I think I can help you, Potter."

He looked down disdainfully on Justin and Kevin, that were closest to 'Harry'. Hermione narrowed 'his' eyes, anger stirring inside her already.

"Oh?" 'he' managed.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

Hermione bit down hard on her automatic response, that would have been along the lines of 'arrogant inbred toerag with less brain than a slug'.

Malfoy held out his hand to shake 'Harry's' and at length, Sky took it, saying rather coolly: "Thank you for your concern, Malfoy was it? But I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself."

She found it rather amusing that she got to use the very line Harry had delivered the First Time, a line that had become extremely popular once Ron had spread the story through the Gryffindor Common Room.

Malfoy didn't seem to get the implications at all, however: Sky nearly gagged at the pleased look on the other's face, was he an idiot? No, don't answer that. He was Malfoy after all.

She decided it was best not to give him the time to sprout even more nonsense. Or give herself the chance to smash that despised face in.

With a voice that turned even colder, 'Harry' asked: "Tell me, Malfoy, what House are you hoping for?"

The blond blinked: "Oh, I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

There were a few hisses, which Hermione privately blamed Susan for, but everybody seemed to accept this confrontation was between 'Potter' and Malfoy. It was up to her to retort.

Sky raised a brow, unimpressed: "You'd rather not graduate than be in Hufflepuff?" 'he' asked sceptically, 'his' tone by now positively glacial.

Malfoy faltered, for the first time sensing that maybe things weren't going his way as much as he'd thought. Then he shrugged, affecting nonchalance: "Doesn't matter, I'll be in Slytherin."

"Indeed? I've got my doubts on that, but good luck", said Sky, his tone just this side of catty.

"What do you mean?" asked Malfoy outraged.

"Weeell", 'he' said, stretching the word to allow the half-whispers and fidgeting from the sharply interested spectators to die down. "You clearly came to me with the intent of impressing me and gaining my friendship. A worthy goal for sure, showing proper amount of ambition" that was positively arrogant and made her a bit uncomfortable. Then again, it was only Malfoy. And she made the declaration too pompous for her muggleborn friends to believe she was doing anything more than mocking the other boy. Which she was, in a way.

There were a few quiet giggles and Malfoy was suddenly looking wary, oh, this was almost as good as slapping him like in her third year.

'He' went on sweetly: "However, you approached me in all the wrong ways. First, you were insulting towards my friends and indirectly my Mother. Bad manners, there, Malfoy."

The other boy flushed, but Sky didn't give him time to retort.

"Add to that, you completely disregarded my muggle upbringing – a well-known fact, that should have suggested you a different approach than sprouting Pureblood supremacy drivel, if you'd been able to think things through that is."

Ok, so this was pretty insulting, but so had been Malfoy's own comments.

"Then again, given the less than diplomatic way you carelessly insulted the noble House of Hufflepuff in a room where approximately a quarter of the presents will likely join it soon… well, you don't strike me as someone with good understanding of situations, I'm afraid. Certainly you have no political sense whatsoever, you've proved as much… Otherwise you would have at least remembered that the _wealthy_ and _influential_ Bones family, for example, has been in Hufflepuff for decades. I don't think Susan is very happy with you at the moment…"

Indeed, the girl looked livid.

Malfoy's cheeks pinked and he opened his mouth to reply angrily, but 'he' cut him off.

"Either you didn't do your research nor took the time for a little elementary observation… or you're unable to make use of the information you gather… Which is it, Malfoy? Lack of planning or lack of cunning? Either way, you're clearly missing some of the most important Slytherin qualities. Are you sure you belong with the snakes after all?"

The over-politeness of 'his' fake concern made 'his' voice as saccharinely viscous as treacle.

Daphne let out a soft admiring whistle and moved a little to her left. Nothing overt, yet now she was most noticeably on 'Harry's' side of the argument. A declaration of intent if Hermione ever saw one.

Points for me, she thought, carefully keeping her smirk inside.

The hardest blow to Malfoy however came from a weedy-looking boy, whose voice was as syrupy as 'Harry's' own.

"Oh, don't worry Draco. If by chance you do make Slytherin after all… just follow the lead of a better snake… I'm sure you'll learn soon enough", he said patronizingly. Treacle really was all the rage for voices, thought Hermione inanely.

Half the watchers nearly choked, in mirth or outrage, it was hard to tell.

Sky shot an uneasy look at the boy that had grabbed her words and twisted them to completely destroy Malfoy's automatic standing among his year mates. Now the blond would have to work hard to gain any influence in Slytherin and would probably need to prove himself time and time again. Leadership of any kind was likely out of his reach for the foreseeable future.

Couldn't have happened to a better git, but… she was still uneasy.

After all, she didn't know much about Theodore Nott.

His father had been a Death Eater, according to Harry, but the boy himself was… well, the best description she could come up with was 'the silent snake observer' (which was how Ginny had defined him once upon a time).

He was never outspoken and often went unnoticed. He had some sharp claws but whenever he wanted to strike, he did it from the dark.

Apparently though, if an opportunity arose he could grab it with swiftness.

She wouldn't admit it, but she was a tad rattled that the boy was already so much better than her at the game, despite her six years advantage!  
It's always the quiet ones…

Still, even if she feared the change of Slytherin leader from Malfoy to Nott might not be all that good, her 'victory' over the bigoted blond was a great satisfaction. She felt… giddy.

She decided to frivolously ignore whatever Harry and Terry were getting up to – for now at least; then, in a bout of silliness, she bowed to Leia, offering to escort 'her' inside the Great Hall rather pompously. Leia stifled 'her' laughter and played along – and when had 'she' practiced curtseying anyway? Harry had bemoaned being unable to do it in his earlier letters…

But it didn't matter.

She had to chuckle at the way the group scrambled to imitate them, but she also felt it was right, on many level, that the two of them were leading their year mates like this. They were here to do the same metaphorically as well, after all. Lead them into a better future.

'He' held his head up proudly as 'he' led her best friend into the cheering Hall.

* * *

'He' very nearly faltered after few steps, at the sudden wave of loss and hatred that washed over her at the sight of Snape sitting on Dumbledore's right.

That… utter… _bastard_.

She shouldn't have underestimated Harry's concern, she really shouldn't have! He'd told her, over and over, that seeing them would be a shock…

She'd thought it was ridiculous.  
Why would the sight of Headmaster Dumbledore affect her badly?

She'd expected to be glad to see him alive, nothing more. It's not like she'd ever been as close to the revered wizard as Harry.

Yet now that he was again sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat…

…she recognized how much she had always relied on their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast…

…how much she'd relied on their Headmaster being there to save the day when necessary, to guide them on the right path, to make the hardest decisions, to help them out whenever needed…

The sudden insight that now, she and Harry were making those decisions on their own and taking their risks without the safety net Dumbledore had always provided was like a blow in the guts.

She realized she had known it for several months now, deep down, but had never looked this awareness in the face.

Now, all of a sudden she felt… an adult.

Older even than the almost-woman she'd been before coming back and far, far older than her best friend's eleven year old body she was inhabiting now...

And with the tiredness and sadness of this understanding came the hatred, stronger than she'd ever felt, because this was _all Snape's fault_.

She'd been the most level-headed concerning him. She'd been the only one to prospect the possibility of a misunderstanding, to try and be fair enough to give him the benefit of doubt (though it was hard to argue with a Killing Curse to the chest, and she knew Harry would never lie on something like this, not if there was even the slightest doubt).

But now, now she only wanted to attack him. Make him _hurt_.

Because…

Because he should have been on their side.

Because she'd come to trust him, despite Harry's and Ron's misgivings.

Because he'd been an horrid teacher, but she had admired his skills and intelligence immensely.

Because he had _betrayed_ them.

And most of all, because he'd forced them to grow up too soon, too completely.

Because if they were alone, it was his fault.

She watched ruefully Professor Dumbledore's beaming smile. She'd never missed the days when that smile could make her feel secure and safe more than now.

She forced herself to calm her raging heart. She was being an idiot. How many times had she told Harry that she wouldn't freak out at seeing someone from their future past, because she was a _rational_ creature and was perfectly able to cope _logically_ with the situation?

So much for that, she thought ruefully. Rational and logical… hah! Arrogant, more like. She was immensely grateful for 'Leia's' steady presence at her side.

She sighed and concentrated. They had a plan. They would take care of the traitorous bastard before he could do any serious damage. Then they would deal with the traitorous bastard's master and all his minions. They would make sure their Headmaster would remain a reassuring and guiding presence for the future Hogwarts students for many, many years to come!

She got herself under control and by the time the Sorting Hat started singing, she was perfectly fine again.

Just in time, too, for the moment she recovered, Harry had his own breakdown; her puzzlement at 'Leia's' suddenly pale and clammy complexion soon gave way to compassion and understanding when she realized Harry was watching Cedric Diggory.

She should have foreseen that the grey eyed boy would be the one to break Harry's control. Cedric's death had been the one to hit Harry the hardest…

Unfortunately, they didn't have the time to deal with this now, so 'he' pinched the slightly swaying girl and hissed "Keep clapping! And smile!"

She barely felt the relief at Leia's recovery because unexpectedly, Terry Boot was being sent to Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

Damn!

It was as she'd feared. She hadn't wanted to face the idea… but however small, the changes they had wrought were already having noticeable effects.

'He' closed 'his' eyes, pained. What would that mean for them?

She belonged in Gryffindor… she _was_ a Gryffindor, and so was Harry… but there was more than a slight chance that it wouldn't matter to the Hat. There was a more than concrete chance that they would end up being Sorted in… in Slytherin. She could barely contemplate the thought but, it couldn't be ignored.

After all, they'd come back determined to destroy the greatest Dark Lord of their time, save the wizarding world at large and _change the very future_. Ambition, that's us, she thought, feeling faint.

She started breathing a little better when no other changes seemed to happen: maybe they'd only affected Terry? Maybe he'd been borderline the First Time… but so had she, she thought with dread, and so had Harry…

Then it was Leia's turn and for the longest moment 'he' stopped breathing altogether, her mind unable to do anything but turn the same thought over and over: 'Please let us be together… I'll take Slytherin if we have to but please, please do not separate us…'

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Relief washed over her. Harry had made it. 'Please, please, please let me be with him…'

Her nervousness increased with every name. Longbottom… didn't take as long as the First Time, or was it just her?... Malfoy… huh, it wasn't instantaneous this time, and he still looked pale… Moon… Nott… Merlin, when was 'his' turn coming? An icy weight was churning in her stomach.

At long last, Sally-Anne slunk to the Ravenclaw table and McGonagall called: "Potter, Harry!"

All her nervousness vanished as if by miracle, suddenly replaced with utter annoyance at the inane whispers that broke out all over.

"_Potter_, did she say?", "_The _Harry Potter?" – what was she, something you goggle at in a zoo?

"He's so short!", "Does he really have the scar?" – _gossipmongers!_

'He' scowled at the people craning to get a good look at 'him' and when the hat dropped over 'his' eyes, she was ready for a good fight.

"You'd better put me in Gryffindor straightaway, Mr Hat!"

She didn't 'voice' the 'Or else!', not even in her mind, but it hung there nonetheless.

The Hat chuckled in her mind. "Interesting. Hmm… courage and determination in abundance… you have other qualities but yes, I don't really see how you could belong elsewhere… GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione froze in shock. _That easy?_

The booming cheer from the red and gold table jerked her out of her disbelief, but she was still rather dazed when she sank down in 'his' seat. She almost felt cheated out of the argument she'd expected!

She barely even registered that Dean Thomas was made a Hufflepuff this time, despite how odd she found the idea.

She perked up however when a very pale Ron collapsed in the chair next to 'him'. This was her chance!

She cast around for something to say, that would not only break the ice, but set them on the right path to the friendship she so missed and longed for. She'd never been very good at this kind of things… Quidditch would have probably been the best bet, she thought huffily, but she'd never bothered to learn more than the basics…

Seamus' voice asking Parvati about her sister drifted to her. _Family!_ she thought with relief. Family was an excellent starting point… and she could talk about the Weasleys _quite_ a lot!

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" resounded Dumbledore's voice.

Everybody clapped and cheered and Sky chuckled fondly. "He's a bit mad, isn't he?"

Ron started badly and blinked at 'him'.

'He' smiled friendly: "I'm Harry, by the way."

Ron gawked at 'him', eyes darting up to 'his' scar; she stifled her irritation.

"Ron… Ron Weasley."

"Happy to be in Gryffindor, Ron?" 'he' asked.

"Hum. Ah, err, yeah. Of course I am… all my brothers are Gryffindors. Mum and Dad too… I don't know what they would have said if I wasn't. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would have been too bad, but imagine if the Hat had put me in Slytherin!"

Sky shuddered sympathetically: "Yeah, it would have been horrible!"

Ron grinned, relaxing.

"So who are your brothers?" Sky asked, pretending curiosity.

Ron happily launched in a description of his family, all the while reaching for any dish in his range - and just like that, they felt like good friends once more, chatting away without a care in the world like they used to do in another life...

Sky beamed.

* * *

Later on, Sky sighed at the babble of opinions and suppositions Dumbledore's speech generated.

She didn't remember so much speculation from her First Time. Then again, she'd been distracted by Percy giving advice on lessons… plus, they hadn't known each other like they did this time. It was really amazing how much of a difference that made.

'He' frowned when Seamus started putting forth more and more outlandish ideas. 'He'd' better put a stop to this before they went too far.

'He' cleared 'his' throat loudly. "I'm more concerned at the implications of such a statement in the current frame of context", 'he' said.

As she had expected, perplexed faces turned to 'him', derailed from their speculations by the effort of puzzling out what 'he'd' said.

"Huh… what?" asked Seamus blankly.

Terry rolled his eyes. "He means that he doesn't understand why the Headmaster told us something like this at this time and in this place", he translated, by now used to Sky's odd turn of phrases on occasions.

Seamus frowned: "Well why didn't he say so in the first place?"

Sky poked 'his' tongue at the Irish boy: "I did!"

Terry and Lavender rolled their eyes in unison.

Parvati interjected, a bit confused: "What do you mean, you don't understand, Harry? It makes sense to tell the whole school when we're all together!"

There were a couple groans. Most of the group had learned fast that you should never give 'Harry' rope for a lengthy argument: they all accepted 'his' sometimes surprising opinions and always let 'Leia' stand up to 'him' if needed. Parvati however was new to the group and didn't know any better, so Sky could challengingly shoot back: "But why tell us such a thing at all?"

The Indian girl's eyes were filled with confusion: "Well, he, he doesn't want us to get into trouble, does he? He doesn't want us to get into trouble, so he's told us not to go there. That's all there is to it…"

She looked like she was trying to convince herself as well as Sky and didn't even know why.

Sky shook 'his' head: "Nuh-huh. If you want a bunch of kids to stay away from someplace, you either make the place boring, or you explain clearly why they shouldn't go there, like, 'Don't go to the Forest because it's full of giant spiders that will eat you'."

'He' ignored Ron's moaned squeak at the idea of giant spiders and the subsequent, inevitable teasing; instead 'he' kept an eye on Terry, who was frowning in thought.

Soon Ron's face was redder than his hair and the group was roaring with laughter, but they all calmed down a bit when Terry asked slowly: "He wants us to investigate. Is that what you mean?"

There were a lot of confused questions from the others, but Sky fought hard not to grin. 'He' nodded, seriously.

"But why?" whispered Terry.

Sky looked up at the Head Table and most of the others followed suit. "I'm not sure", 'he' lied pensively.

Ron shrugged. "Whatever. Pass the treacle tarts!"

And with that, everybody turned to desserts.

* * *

After Percy started leading the first years to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione relaxed considerably.

As far as she was concerned, the day had been a success.

They were in Hogwarts at last, they had neither slipped too badly nor snapped and done something stupid, nothing dramatic had happened, the timeline they were familiar with still seemed more or less valid and there was no sign of unduly suspicions from the teachers or even Dumbledore so far.

All was well.

Now all she wanted was her bed.

Letting go of the nervous energy that had sustained her all day long had resulted in a sudden crash. Sleep sounded wonderful. It was like all the accumulated fatigue had crashed on her shoulders like a brick wall, shrouding her with its weight. She desperately wanted to collapse somewhere and let go of her tight control for a few hours.

But of course, Leia had other programs…

Hermione was as much appalled as amused at the unexpected mess with Peeves. How was she supposed to react to such madness?

Should she be angry that Harry wasted time thinking up such a ridiculous prank when they had so much more serious plans to worry about? Or relieved that this was it after all and she wouldn't have to worry about secret plots coming back to bite them in the arse?

In the end, she didn't react at all.

Maybe it was Harry's way to unwind, she reflected. Especially now that he didn't have Quidditch to fall back on…

Everybody needed something like that: she herself had discreetly 'borrowed' a few trashy novels from her mum and stashed them out of view among 'his' socks. Was pranking Peeves any better or worse than that? Did it even matter?

She shot a glare at Terry, though. What was he doing, going along with Leia's absurd schemes? He looked as if was having even more fun than 'her'!  
Pinkerton's Paragon Detergent indeed! She'd thought that boy had more sense.  
She still made a mental note to check if there was any truth in the story of the Canterville Ghost, as soon as she found time for a bit of personal research. Intellectual curiosity had always been one of her strongest feats and it was't going to change just because of a botched ritual.

As if scarring Peeves for good wasn't enough, Leia then proceeded to fire question upon question at the poor Prefects – and sure they were all smart questions and definitely useful things to ask but bloody hell, did Harry never get tired?

Sky was stumbling with sleepiness every other step, how could 'Leia' be so… vibrant, after the day they'd had?

When Leia hurriedly whispered 'her' idea about letters however she felt as if the brick wall weighing her down had abruptly lifted.

She'd been so sad that she wouldn't get to keep in contact with her parents from Hogwarts, but she'd taken for granted that it couldn't be helped.

Trust Harry to work out the perfect solution!

'He' impulsively hugged her best friend tightly.

There was no way to express how grateful she was for his friendship. All she could manage was a rather random 'Thank Merlin for smelly Mountain Trolls!'

As they made their way through the familiar squashy armchairs of the cosy Gryffindor Common Room, she felt on the verge of both tears and laughter and knew it was due to exhaustion.

Thankfully for Harry's reputation, she managed to avoid both extremes and merely relieved her feelings by cuffing Ron on the back of his head. Honestly! Tactless prat!

Percy left them in the circular dorm she remembered well, so similar and so different from her own, and 'he' quietly changed into night wear and let the jokes Terry and Seamus still had energy to trade wash over 'him'.

She was exhausted, but a small smile was insistently tugging at 'his' lips. And after all, why should she stop it?

They were in Hogwarts at last, they were together in Gryffindor and they had their friends with them. They were excellent reasons to smile!

Neville murmured a shy 'goodnight' that 'he' returned gently. 'He' let 'himself' fall back on the soft mattress, blissfully ignoring the stray pillow Seamus had narrowly missed Terry with.

Eventually the lights went off and only a lot of rustling and last-minute whispers filled the silence.

As 'he' started drifting off to sleep, Ron's muttering voice sounded through the hangings: "Great food, isn't it?" 'He' had to smile at that. Her red-headed friend never changed… "Get _off_, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Hermione's green eyes shot open in the dark as 'he' involuntarily gasped, frozen.

She'd forgotten Sirius!

* * *

_A/N 2: Wheew… done at last. It's been rather hard making my mind up about a few decisions in this chapter; though most of them will only reach their full importance later on, any comment – good or bad – will be most appreciated!_


	9. 9 Getting a few things sorted

_Disclaimer:__ Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
__In particular, there will be lines from __J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" – especially in the Potions classroom - and data from "Quidditch Through the Ages" by 'Kennilworthy Wisps'._

_A/N:__ Pheew… done at last. Merlin but this chapter has been difficult… Hopefully it is worth the read. Just as a reminder… 'Sky' is Hermione in Harry's body; 'Leia' is Harry in Hermione's body. _

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_9. Getting a few things sorted_

Harry woke up so early it had barely stopped being late.

However, it took her over an hour of tossing and turning and grumbling about the bed being in the wrong position before she gave up and resigned herself to getting dressed in the still unfamiliar female uniform.

She padded downstairs in the silent Common Room and wasn't entirely surprised to find Sky already there, pacing.

The boy's green eyes shot up to her, barely visible in the slowly greying light of dawn and the flickering sparks of the fire. Harry smiled: "Morning, Sky."

The other didn't acknowledge her however and his eyes remained troubled.

Harry sighed, picking her way through the squashy armchairs. "Look, I know you're nervous, I am as well, but there is no reason. We've gone over everything a thousand times. We're ready. Besides, nothing too serious is planned for today…" she started soothingly.

"It's not that", interrupted Sky. "Harry…"

"Call me Leia!" hissed Harry alarmed. Really, anyone could be around! What could possibly have Hermione so rattled that he was slipping this badly?

A moment later she got the answer, and it wasn't one she liked.

"Harry, what are we going to do about Sirius?"

Harry felt herself stiffen and go cold.

At length, she answered flatly, her voice horribly monotone: "Nothing."

Sky gasped, outraged. "Nothing?" he repeated incredulously, his eyes wide in disbelief. "What do you mean, _nothing_?"

Harry closed her eyes, pained.

"Harry, you can't be serious! We can't just ignore that he's locked up in Azkaban…"

"Do we have any choice, Hermione?" she asked, her pained tone unable to hide her guilt and shame.

"Of course we have a choice! What… how could… you can't mean… are you suggesting that we leave him there?"

Harry winced. "I am."

"Harry!"

Sky's stifled cry was as horrified and indignant as Leia's statement had been weary and guilt-ridden. "I can't believe you! I _don't _believe you!"

Leia raised a pausing hand. "Hermione, think! Just for a minute, think of what it would mean to free him."

"It would spare an innocent man years of pain!" he shouted softly.

Leia collapsed on an armchair, slumping. It's not like she could counter this truth, and she certainly didn't want her Godfather in that Merlin forsaken place any minute more than necessary. Still, she had to point out the consequences, even if she loathed to be thinking along such lines.

"Hermione, how would we go about freeing him?" she asked with tired resignation.

"It's not like it's difficult!" Sky exclaimed in contempt. "Scabbers is right here, we give him up and…"

"And he'd end up in Azkaban instead of… of Sirius", she pointed out, stumbling a little on the loved name. She had the terrible feeling she wasn't going to be able to look his Godfather in the eye ever again, not after making the decision she was making.

Sky stared at him like he was a snake about to strike. "That, I believe, is precisely the point", he said frostily.

"No, Hermione. Because we cannot afford it."

Sky was incredulous. "Are you saying that you don't want your parents' betrayer to go to Azkaban?" he asked harshly.

Leia sprang to her feet so abruptly that Sky recoiled. Her fists were tightly closed and her eyes blazing. "Of _course_ I want him in Azkaban! Of course I want him secured away and punished! _And of course I want my Godfather free!_ Free, Hermione! I want Sirius to have a chance at life, real life, not the existence on the run he had last time! I want him cleared! I want him healthy and whole again! I want him _happy!_ And don't you _dare_ think for even a minute I wouldn't give anything of mine to get him out of that hellhole!"

"But… but you just said…" Sky stammered, confused.

"Think, for bloody pity's sake, you're supposed to be brilliant, so prove it! Think! If we give Pettigrew up to the Aurors, then _who will help Voldemort come back?_"

"I… I don't know…" said Sky slowly.

"Precisely!"

Green eyes stared at her uncertainly. "He'll come back anyway, you know…"

Leia slumped again, her bout of fury over. "Yes, of course he will. Except that we won't know _how_. Or when. Or… well, basically, we'd be screwed, because we'd lose the advantage of foreknowledge. The advantage, I might add, we were desperate enough to seek through highly illegal means. And need I remind you that without that advantage, _we were losing?_"

"But there must be something we can do! Some way to help Sirius and still preserve the timeline!"

"Well if you come up with it, then by all means, do share! I've spent I don't know how many nights since the Switch trying to figure out a way to prove Pettigrew is alive and guilty without ultimately risking hundreds of lives!"

It was Sky's turn to wince.

Harry felt both bad and vindicated. Rightful indignation was all very well and good, but he was acutely aware of just how badly against them the odds were, considering Voldemort's power, ruthlessness and most of all experience. And this wasn't a children's game or school contest. If they lost their advantage, and Voldemort won, people would _die. _Or worse. It was better that Sky didn't forget this _tiny_ detail!

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sky asked softly after a while.

"Huh?"

The boy gingerly sat next to her on the armchair. "You never said a word… all those plans, and I'd quite forgotten Sirius, and you never mentioned… why didn't you tell me, if you were tormenting yourself so?"

"For one, you never seemed to like Sirius much", edged Harry.

"That doesn't mean I would have dismissed your concerns!" Sky said, quite offended.

Leia sighed. "I…" She swallowed, embarrassed. Her tone became subdued. "I just… I didn't want you to know… that is… I-I didn't want to admit I was considering leaving someone I l-love to suffer _for the Greater Good_."

The last words were heavy with sarcasm, shame and self-deprecation.

Sky wrapped an arm around her shoulders, speechless. His troubled eyes fixated on the crackling fire.

Neither broke the uneasy silence for a long time. They simply remained there as the greyish light of day became ever clearer.

"There has to be a way. Something we can do to make things right", said Sky at length. "There just has to be."

* * *

They shook themselves when others started trickling down to the Common Room, but both were a bit subdued still, even as Percy Weasley, full of enthusiasm and of his own importance, proudly led the first years to the Great Hall for breakfast, completely oblivious to the fact that his inspired historical commentary of every nook and cranny they were passing by was rather wasted on the half-asleep children.

So out of it were they, that Harry found herself sitting next to Ron without even noticing. She mentally winced. _Now what?_

Thankfully she didn't have time to work herself into a panic.

The Twins plopped down in front of them, awfully perky for an early morning, and started teasing their little brother a bit about the Chudley Cannons' latest debacle, launching off a discussion about Quidditch.

Harry perked up immediately.

A fleeting thought that _Hermione_ shouldn't really know anything much about Quidditch flittered through his head and was promptly dismissed. No way in hell would she be kept from talking Quidditch, no matter what body she was in!

"…it's just that the Dopplebeater Defence requires precision to pull it off right!" was protesting Fred (or was that George?)

"Is it really worth it, just to hit the Bludger with extra power?" she interjected, feigning curiosity. She knew the difficult move, that required both Beaters to hit a Bludger at the same time, resulting in an attack of greater severity, had become a favourite of the Twins in later years, but she remembered the long hours it took them to learn the needed accuracy.

Ron turned surprised eyes to her, even his scrambled eggs momentarily forgotten in favour of Quidditch talk. Nice to know his priorities were straight, sniggered Harry within herself.

"You know Quidditch? I thought you were Muggleborn!"

Leia shrugged gracefully. "I know enough to tell that that move requires far too much concentration to pull off, what if the other Bludger slips by and knocks another player off their broom while the Beaters concentrate on one?"

"Yeah, but if the team is good, then they don't need the Beaters to guard them all the time, sure that's their first duty but it's important that Beaters distract the other team too!" replied Ron zealously.

"Distractions to the opponents don't mean much if they sidetrack your own team too, look what happened with the Tutshill Tornadoes in the last match…"

And just like that, they were happily discussing Quidditch moves and debating teams, precisely as they'd done a thousand times before.

It was as if nothing had changed between them; it was ordinary, it was easy, it was wonderful.

Before he knew it, Harry was smiling and relaxing and smirking over the Tornadoes' worthless Beaters and chatting animatedly and _he had his best friend back._

Maybe he'd worried about nothing.

Maybe he could still have the Weasleys despite the Switch, even Ron (he shied away from thoughts of Ginny with, by now, practiced ease).

Maybe it hadn't been his scar after all that had attracted the young redhead – even if he'd never admitted it aloud, that was a doubt that had always secretly nagged him; but now he had no scar, no fame, yet they were fast becoming friends anyway.

Maybe they were just well-suited to each other: the easy way they were goofing off together now was proof enough, wasn't it?

Harry caught Sky's smug glance over the breakfast table. The green orbs seemed to knowingly say: _See? He's still Ron. You still love him like a brother. You'll still have fun together, and mad adventures, and lazy afternoons of Quidditch nonsense. Everything will be as it was, and you were being an idiot._

She bristled a little, feeling like crossing her arms pouting and huffing petulantly. But for once it felt _good_ that Hermione had been right all along and besides, she was too busy explaining why Ron's idea of the long goal was not as awesome as the other boy seemed to think it, since shooting from well outside the scoring area almost always meant the Quaffle didn't even reach said area…

It was so normal.

It was so wonderful.

And then Ron had to go and ruin it: "You know, you're not half bad, for a _girl_."

The git had a pleased, condescending smile on his face as he turned back to his bacon, and had never looked more like Draco Malfoy than in that moment, Harry thought, her good mood devastated.

_For a girl_.

Being suddenly dowsed with cold water wouldn't have frozen her half as much.

For therein lay the problem she'd managed to forget for all of fifteen minutes.

She didn't have her best friend back after all, because she was a _girl_, and of course Ron wouldn't wake up to common sense for years yet: Harry knew all too well that the other boy had tolerated Hermione, at first, only because of Harry himself, and homework. It would likely not matter in the least what they did together, Ron wouldn't truly consider her his best friend, ever, _because she was a girl_.

She jumped to her feet, viciously shoving her hurt deep down with a metaphorical movement mimicked by her hands slamming on the table.

Everybody looked up from their breakfast, conversations tapering off as they craned their neck to see, curious as to what the interruption could be on the very first morning.

"You prejudiced prat!" Leia cried, for once pleased that her voice was so shrill. "_For a girl_ indeed! I'll have you know, you ignorant fool, that girls can be absolutely _brilliant_ at Quidditch! Do I need to point out that the Holyhead Harpies, an all-witches team mind you, are _second in the League_?" – they were too, in the current year, as Harry well knew since he had delighted in following a Quidditch season that had escaped his notice completely the First Time – "Or that some of the best players ever were females? Glynnis Griffith! Gwendolyn Morgan! Meghan McCormack! _Eunice Murray!"_ – actually the last one had been a true idol for him, the most successful Seeker ever (she'd once petitioned for 'a faster Snitch because this is just too easy'). That resulted in her voice being honestly outraged.

Her passionate defence had attracted attention, in particular from the three Gryffindor Chasers – and as Harry suddenly remembered, Angelina, Alicia and Katie could be a force to be reckoned with even outside the pitch.

Case in point, Angelina was asking in a deadly voice: "Do I have to understand that the redhead there thinks _girls can't play Quidditch!_"

The Twins, recognizing the signs of danger, were quick to intervene:

"Sure you can…"

"…play Quidditch…"

"…and make us poor blokes…"

"…sigh in envy at your daring brilliance…"

But even they couldn't prevent Ron from being a tactless fool, thought Harry with a mental sigh as the other first year thoughtlessly blurted out: "Well, sure you can, only you're not usually as good as guys, is all!"

Oh, dear. Ron was in for it now…

Leia cautiously moved out of the line of fire, smirking at Fred's pained groan and George's dramatically banging his head on the table, just as the older girls descended on Ron like Furies, while a severely displeased Professor McGonagall, who'd arrived with the schedules just in time to hear him, prevented his escape.

Well, thought Harry fondly, McGonagall _had _been a Beater, and Captain of the Gryffindor team in her days, and was still a rather obsessed fan. She was bound to _correct_ Ron's misguided ideas…

Which would be a start, even if it couldn't mean the gap the Switch had created between them would be filled as he had, for one wild moment, hoped.

* * *

Sky tried to squeeze her hand in sympathy as a rather disgruntled Prefect Jada led them out to the greenhouses behind the castle for their first Herbology class, but Leia didn't want to be comforted.

She'd known it would go like this. She'd even told Sky. It was her own damned fault if she felt so awful right now, she should have remembered to keep her distance, that was all.

So she engaged their Hufflepuff friends in conversation instead, comparing notes on dorms and dreams and last night's treacle tart until dumpy little Professor Sprout called their attention to all the strange plants and fungi they would soon learn to care for.

_At least classes should be easy_, thought Harry, smiling at Susan when she offered to partner her. _What with it being first year stuff…_

But of course, nothing could go smooth in his life, could it?

Herbology might have been easy indeed, and History only offered the usual challenge to the ability of keeping their eyes open, but the wanded classes turned out to be a problem.

Her magic was different.

She wasn't sure she could explain the feeling of strangeness properly, but it was there.

She hadn't noticed anything during the summer, but then she hadn't actually used any magic. And perhaps her changed wand should have been an alarm bell…

Now that she was doing some 'foolish wand waving' every day, she could feel that something was… off. Not wrong, but different, very different from what she was used to.

She wondered if Sky felt the same and resolved to ask as soon as they had a minute of peace, but for the moment there was too much going on.

All she could do was coping as best as possible; at least it made it so they didn't have to worry about appearing too advanced. However, she was helplessly starting to panic as she realized the implication of her magic not responding properly to her control.

Transfiguration in particular seemed to be a lost cause.

He'd always waded his way through the class thanks to sheer power: the complex diagrams and detailed schematizations of the processes involved were completely beyond him, but if he had a clear enough picture of what he wanted to obtain, and stubbornly threw his magic into convincing the universe that it should, indeed, contain the transfigured item instead of the original one, he eventually got the desired results.

Now, however, it seemed impossible to go this route, simply because there was not enough magic in her anymore.

What an unsettling feeling that was, feeling the magic draining from her body, leaving her tired like after a long run!

Harry had never experienced anything like that before and it had rattled her badly. So much so that the first time it happened, she worried she might have been cursed, or was possibly coming down with something.

Granted, she still seemed to be able to handle much more than her classmates, if the afternoon practice sessions were anything to go by: only Sky had no trouble keeping up with her; but, she reckoned, that was because they were used to wielding magic a lot more than this, even if their bodies were not.

Still, the problems remained.

Worst of all was the sudden importance that concentration and precision seemed to have acquired.

It no longer took him a while to browbeat the universe into doing his bidding, which had allowed him to rely exclusively on his will being clear and strong enough to override any little deviation or mistake; instead, now every little flick or swish of her wand mattered immensely and _immediately_, every nuance of tone and pronunciation made a visible difference.

It was disconcerting.

He'd always envisioned his magic like an enormous beast, to which he could sort of tell what he wished and it would get it done: incantations and wand movements were to him like a tamer's tools.

Now, however, magic felt more like a waterfall or perhaps a brook, and the spells were like a delicate set of scales and moving parts powered by that flow: every syllable, every gesture were balanced components of the mechanism that would produce the result, and every slight change could upset its beautiful equilibrium, dissipating the flow in useless rivulets or engaging the wrong gears with unwanted effects.

It was a way of interacting with magic rather alien to Harry's mentality – and it showed in her poor achievements in class.

The first time she tried to turn a matchstick into a needle, her concentration wavered but for an instant, momentarily distracted by the sudden incongruous idea of a butterfly being pinned by the needle she was transfiguring, and it was enough to upset the delicate succession of gears, with the result that the matchstick became a flimsy metal wire that twisted itself into a sort-of-butterfly-shaped half-melted kind of pin.

McGonagall was baffled.

Which was rather unnerving: McGonagall was never puzzled. He distinctly remembered Neville transplanting his own ears on a cactus once and she hadn't batted an eye. That is, she'd yelled a lot, but she hadn't been surprised, and certainly not mystified!

He didn't have much chance to worry about himself though, because Sky too was having troubles, and handling them much worse than her.

The fact that, apparently, the well-known wand movements and precise focusing weren't working at all, and he not only hadn't managed the simple, familiar transfiguration but he'd achieved the rather impressive result of accidentally _exploding_ the matchstick, had him near tears.

Too bad Harry was at a loss as to how to either explain it, or at least, comfort Sky.

Charms, fortunately, was much better: probably because they were starting off with nothing harder than a _lumos_; though even that had yielded unexpected results – in that Sky had practically blinded everybody in the classroom with a powerful beam of white light, which had him squeaking in shock and Professor Flitwick chuckling about eager children overdoing things; while Leia had found her wand tip changing hue as fast as her mind registered the colours she saw around her, unless she made an effort to concentrate constantly on a specific one.

To their surprise however, Professor Flitwick took it all in stride.

He cheerfully launched into an explanation of the nature of magic and the unique ways it related to the souls and bodies that were in tune with it – a speech that Harry was _positive_ he hadn't made the First Time.

Or maybe he had, but nobody had bothered to pay attention, because even now he could see that most of the class had their eyes glazed over, as if they were listening to Binns.

In all likelihood, only Hermione had been at all interested back then; this time on the other hand, she had Terry's backing, and they both had a summer of debating on the nature of magic, even if only at the most basic level, behind them; and Leia herself had a longer attention span, now, than she'd had back at eleven, not to mention a new curiosity in the topic, spurred both by a greater maturity and by having seen what Dumbledore and Voldemort could achieve.

As a consequence, the initial clarification Flitwick started off with was met with interest and intelligent questions that grew into a lengthy discussion; a debate that maybe involved the rest of the class only marginally, but clearly made the tiny Professor's day, as he became more and more passionate and delighted.

Eventually, the Professor had to conclude the lesson, since the period was over, but sent them off with promises of pertinent books and a set of exercises that should, according to him, teach them how to understand the way magic flowed through their bodies, making it easier to learn spells later on.

If the discussion itself hadn't generated much enthusiasm beyond the three of them, the list of exercises mentioned intrigued and excited every child, especially when Seamus proposed turning it into a competition.

As he pointed out, there were more than enough 'games' to organize 'a real blooming Tournament': changing the intensity of the light, brightening it and dimming it alternatively, then on certain patterns and rhythms, then on a partner's command; changing its colour on purpose, or not changing it through a series of other moves; shooting sparks, more, less, fast, slow, in bursts, continuously, this colour, that one, to a still target, to a moving one…

Really, there were games for every taste. It was just a matter of deciding how to give points and prizes and such: something that Hannah, Parvati and – surprisingly – Kevin had thrown themselves into doing with enthusiasm.

So it was that by Tuesday evening 'Sky's Club', as it had somehow been dubbed after Hermione's proposal on the train (Leia privately blamed Dean), was unanimously dedicated to the 'Best Charms Games'; a relief, since the first, disastrous meeting on Monday had proved beyond doubt that there was no hobby, pastime, interest or pet topic they could all share (as well as getting them banned from the Library for a fortnight, much to Sky's and Terry's dismay).

These 'games', however, they could all enjoy; and by general consensus, Charms was proclaimed the best class ever.

Needless to say though, even the unexpected and rather worrisome difficulties with their magic paled in comparison to the dread inspired by the two classes that the time travellers had true reason to fear.

And if the confrontation with Snape could be postponed until the end of the week, Quirrell was a much closer problem.

On Wednesday morning, Harry stood ramrod straight outside the door of the DADA classroom and wondered if paranoia had caught up with him at last and he'd finally snapped.

He was running through scenarios, cataloguing exit ways and listing possibly useful spells in his mind, wondering how to keep the 'children' safe.

Never before had he gone to class as if he was going into battle, not even with Umbridge, not even with Snape!

Then again, he'd never knowingly gone into a classroom to get a lecture from Voldemort.

His paranoia was ridiculous, yes, but also very justified!

She felt a comforting hand at the small of her back and glanced to her right, meeting Sky's determined eyes.

For the first time since they came back, she was glad to be in Hermione's body: not resigned, _happy_.

Voldemort was bound to focus on 'Harry Potter' and that left her space to manoeuvre and protect her best friend.

She smiled, and Sky smiled back.

"Aren't you going in?" asked a puzzled Neville from behind them.

They spun and smiled at him. "Yeah, sure."

Of course, they probably should have remembered how poor a teacher Quirrel was: the class was a huge let-down.

If the First Time the classroom smelling strongly of garlic ad the ludicrous tales of Romanian vampires, troublesome zombies and thank-you gifts form African princes had been considered a bit of a joke, now, after his own stellar lessons to the DA and Snape's challenging course, Harry was disgusted with it.

Nevertheless, she was on full alert every second of the useless lecture, tracking Quirrell's every movement with a keenness she could only hope would pass off for interest in the subject.

Nothing untoward happened, thankfully, and she gratefully hastened out of the classroom with Sky at the end of the period.

"Here", she said with a sympathetic look, drawing Sky a little away from Seamus' colourful comments on the professor's turban and the resulting general laughter.

Sky stared at the little phial. "Headache reliever?" he asked doubtfully.

"Nicked it from Percy", Leia confided conspiratorially. "Oh, don't be like that", she added at her best friend's reproachful look, "it's just Percy. He's got a stash of the stuff in his desk, you know, he probably won't even notice it's gone!"

Sky sighed. "He'll notice", he said flatly.

Leia shrugged unconcernedly. "And likely blame the Twins."

"Why are you giving it to me, anyway?"

Leia blinked. "Don't you have a headache?"

Sky frowned. "No."

"Weird…" she trailed off, a bit uncertain. "I remember always having awful headaches after Quirrell's lessons…"

They walked in silence past the portrait of a plump, giggling maid with flowers in her hair that Harry had always loathed.

"Are you sure it wasn't just towards the end of the year?" ventured Sky as they reached the end of the corridor. "You know, after…" He hesitated.

"The Forest Incident", concluded Leia with sudden understanding. "You're right, I didn't think… but yes, it was only after that detention that the pain started."

Sky squeezed her arm. "Thank you for taking care of me", he said shyly, as they caught up with the others. Then he added sternly: "Now go give Percy his potion back!"

* * *

Whatever their problems with the curriculum, at any rate, outside the classroom life was good in the first few days.

As he had easily adapted to Ron's snoring and Seamus forgetting his dirty boxers in the shower stalls and Neville's plants cropping up around the dorm, Harry got now quickly used to Lavender filling the bathroom with make-up and beauty care products and needing to borrow space in her roommates' wardrobes for her far too many clothes, and to Parvati scattering her things everywhere and panicking over hair ribbons as part of her morning routine and losing her watch only to find her quills when she was looking for her Herbology book.

The few suggestions she'd made to Percy on the first night paid off nicely.

A collective trip to the Owlery took place right after dinner on Monday, and Hedwig and Archimedes flew off bickering and snapping their beaks at each other, carrying letters for the Grangers, only to return two days later with lengthy, vivacious replies for both Leia and Sky; and if it was a bit disconcerting to be privy to both sets of correspondence, it was also very nice.

The planned guided tour of the main areas of the castle had grown to include _all _first years with but a little nudge – namely hinting about 'the importance of inter-House cooperation' in Percy's hearing range. The idea had put a star in the Gryffindor Prefect's eyes and he was only too happy to lord 'his' initiative over the other Prefects and harass them into following his directives, as 'primary organizer of the event'.

Thus on Tuesday afternoon after classes the firsties all found themselves gathered in the Great Hall, under the watchful (or bored, or resented) eye of all fifth year Prefects, ready to be shown around and marvel in loud awe at the one hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts and the amazing rooms they led to.

As they chatted and squealed and joked and arranged themselves somewhat, Leia caught sight of Theodore Nott leaning into Pansy Parkinson's ear and whispering something, then withdrawing with a smirk, leaving the girl into the limelight but observing everything with keen attention, piercing eyes riveted on her and Sky.

Leia frowned, perplexed.

Parkinson for her part smirked and jutted her chin out, arrogant and self-assured, then started loudly complaining to her cohort of Slytherin girls, moaning over "this waste of time", because "really, this is nonsense. No wonder it was a _Gryffindork_ who came up with the idea. And a Weasley no less! Well, anybody can see why this is ridiculous… Honestly, someone like _them_ shouldn't be let free to waste the time of _important people_ with activities that have no meaning to proper wizardfolks…"

Leia was glad to see Daphne Greengrass discreetly rolling her eyes. Daphne had distanced herself somewhat from everyone after the Sorting, but Sky hadn't lost hope of drafting her into Sky's Club.

Parkinson, on the other hand, would not be let in if she begged, that much Leia swore to herself. Just what was she doing, anyway, bitching like that? Had Nott put her up to this? What was he playing at?

She cast a quick glance at Malfoy, just in case he was about to take over Gryffindor baiting, which had always been a pastime of his (and to which he was admittedly better than Parkinson); but the pale blond was keeping his mouth surprisingly shut.

"And I can't believe they're forcing us into such a crass activity as a guided tour. I mean, it's rather obvious that _we_ proper wizardfolk don't belong here. It's for _Muggleborns_, after all", she said in a loud gossiping tone, full of disdain and condescension.

Leia clenched her teeth, uncertain about how to counter the nonsense the spiteful girl was sprouting but knowing she couldn't afford to let it pass. Unfortunately, Sky looked even more ill-equipped to face this than her.

It unexpectedly turned out, however, that neither of them needed to do anything: to their amazement, Justin Finch-Fletchley – bubbly, gullible, buoyant Justin – took it upon himself to step up and face the bint.

"Oh? Really, is that so? A waste of time you say… Well, I'm sure you have your reasons… Tell me, then, and I ask merely out of curiosity, you understand, but I would really like to know, why is it that an extremely useful thing like being shown around the school, which is an evident benefit to students unfamiliar with the place such as us… why is it that you don't appreciate it, Miss… whatever you name is? Unable to keep up?"

He smirked as she choked in her indignation.

"Oh, dear. I understand, it must be hard for you to face your… _limitations_… and really, I sympathize with you, but I'm sure the Prefects will be kind enough to explain things to you in small words if that's what you need… and your Housemates will surely lead you around to wherever you need to go if you are incapable of learning your way…"

Muffled snickers were coming from the loose ring that had automatically formed around the confrontation.

"Though I must confess it is… _disappointing…_ that one such as yourself should be included in our class, and slow us down so…"

"Slow _you_ down!" shrieked Pansy, but Justin blithely went on as if she wasn't even there.

"…but I suppose we have to be gracious to the less fortunate… _noblesse oblige_ after all…"

Fascinated, Harry watched as the Hufflepuff _somehow_ managed to look down on the pug faced girl, despite being shorter. For the first time he realized that the muggle world had its own Purebloods too.

And why not? The magic supremacists had their equivalent after all, in people like the Dursleys (really, substitute 'mudblood' for 'freak' and 'worthless blood-traitor' for 'unnatural abomination' and any rant of Vernon's could be sprouted by a Death Eater).

Justin's grandmother had been the daughter of a Baronet and Leia and Sky had had the distinct impression, over the summer, that Justin's mother would never ever let it be forgotten. Now Harry had the proof that, even if their friend wasn't inclined to make a fuss about his heritage on a daily basis, Justin clearly _could_ be an obnoxious aristocratic berk if he so chose.

Watching him cut Parkinson down, Harry had the weirdest impression that every single one of Justin's ancestors was looking down on Pansy and her family and she was coming up short in the confrontation. Given the way she stuttered and flushed, she was realizing it too, but the lost look in her eyes also proved that she didn't understand how this was possible.

As if 'being Pureblood' could possibly be the only thing one could feel superior about!

_Well_, she thought, _here's to hoping Justin's attitude, however irritating, will open some eyes to _how many_ kinds of prejudice can be found in the world…_

But a subtler thought intruded on her surprised admiration, one that she wasn't entirely proud of. She wasn't needed for this, and it galled. Justin was handling things just fine. She should have been happy, possibly proud of him, definitely not dissatisfied. Yet, her instinctive resistance to trust any other with _her_ task warred with the immense relief of sharing a burden.

Relief won out, in the end.

It was amazing, not to be alone.

Oh, she'd always had Hermione and Ron to be sure, but this… this having a big, well-rounded group of friends, ready to support each other, each with their own strengths, their own roles… it was marvellous.

She didn't need to do _everything_. Just her own part, and others would do theirs, the way she'd never been able to count on when she was 'Harry Potter, unanimously proclaimed Hero'.

Oh, yes. She was relieved.

Sky murmured softly in her ear: "Impressive, huh?"

Dazed, she could only nod.

Nobody seemed to realize the momentous importance of the revelation she'd just had, not even Sky, which was certainly fortunate.

Instead, the first years all sniggered at Parkinson and chatted away, happily following the Prefects, gushing over doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending; laughing good-naturedly at those who forgot to jump the vanishing step halfway up, despite the warnings; pestering the older students with questions on whether or not it was true that some stairs led somewhere different on a Friday, and whether the caretaker really chained students up and whipped them during detentions; squealing in wonder and calling attention to the way everything seemed to move around a lot, shrieking when they recognized the people in the portraits that were visiting each other and rudely pointing to the coats of armour when they spotted them walk.

All in all, they managed to make a nuisance of themselves all over the castle in a most satisfying way.

Though Leia could have done without the humiliation of crossing paths with the Hufflepuff third years on the Grand Staircase and having 'Lav and Parv' (as they would always be named when in their giggling mood, she vowed) make a big deal of it, or rather, of her and Cedric - and in front of the portrait of Violet, too, so now everybody and their owls would know that she supposedly mooned over the handsome boy… urgh!

Anyway, the tour of the school – in addition to being useful in itself and giving them a reason for their familiarity with the castle – brought the time travellers another advantage: indeed, after admiring their new school, nobody could argue against the absolute necessity of further, personal explorations, thus providing Leia and Sky with a number of scattered occasions and opportunities to casually slip away by themselves (mainly thanks to Harry's amazing knowledge of the shortcuts and passages of the castle).

It became a bit of a joke, for the rest of Sky's Club, the fact that the two of them were forever 'falling through a tapestry' or 'checking out behind a statue' or 'trying a different turn': the other kids quickly came to expect their merry "You wouldn't believe what we've found!" right after yet another brief disappearance.

These handfuls of moments by themselves did wonders for their nerves, because they allowed them to reassure each other, be themselves if only for a minute, hash out their plans and keep track of the myriad of little things where mistakes could hide and nest.

Sky, bless her methodical researcher's heart, had made a list – colour coded by importance, of course, and cleverly disguised as 'Ten Steps to Magically Quicken your Morning Routine', which Leia had learned anyway since she particularly appreciated any help with getting ready now that she was confronted with the problem that she couldn't afford a scruffy appearance anymore – that they could consult every morning to refresh their memory about the 'ongoing plans' or the 'things on the backburner', so as to be ready in case an occasion rose to push them forward.

After all, if the Big Plots, as Leia jokingly called them, took up the majority of their time and effort, along with whatever day-to-day minor crisis were thrown at them, they nevertheless had a number of long-term, not-essential-but-would-be-nice-to-manage little projects.

Cultivating a reputation for eccentric/advanced reading, for instance, was one such long term plan: it was crucial both to give them an excuse if they slipped about something they weren't supposed to know, and - more importantly - to cover for the research into Horcruxes and Artefacts of the Founders they desperately needed to start, and soon (yet another reason for Sky to be furious at being banned from the Library because of 'those noisy morons').

But their various goals also included promoting inter-house unity, learning to play gobstones (Sky'd always wanted to), fighting prejudice, figuring out a way to go flying without rousing suspicion (Leia didn't think she could live without it), helping their classmates learn to defend themselves in spite of Quirrell's poor teaching, retaining the friendship with Hagrid, keeping an eye on the political scene… and promoting House Elf Liberation, because Hermione was Hermione no matter how she looked.

With this last point, however, Harry wanted nothing to do and had made it abundantly clear to her huffing friend.

That didn't mean she herself didn't have her own pet project, one that involved a certain supernatural nuisance… and she got a chance to pursue it that very Thursday…

"Poltergeist!"

Terry's delighted shout resonated from around the next corner.

Leia, who'd been lagging behind, promptly ran to the other boy. "Where, where?"

She stopped short right before slamming into Terry's back and took in the frozen tableau before her.

Peeves was, indeed, hovering at the top of a staircase, what looked like water balloons lifted over his head. He'd apparently been targeting a group of second year Ravenclaws, who looked half-wet and rather scared as they attempted to climb on the floor.

Nev and Sky were scrambling out of the way, glancing nervously at Terry: not surprisingly, as the boy had his potentially lethal tweezers out already, mad scientist attitude shining from his every pore.

Leia chuckled to herself. Her spur of the moment prank was growing into something truly interesting. Craziness was bound to ensue!

Her giggle seemed to shock Peeves out of his immobility: the Poltergeist let out a terrified shriek and zoomed away at top speed, though he didn't waste the opportunity of dropping all the remaining water balloons on the second years' heads anyway. His echoing screeches of "Mad, I tell you! Insane!" soon died away in the lower floor's corridors.

Terry and Leia commented in unison. "Aww…!"

Sky shook his head exasperatedly. "Peeves is right. You're right insane, the both of you!"

Leia sniffed. "Just you wait. We've got seven years here… we'll catch him yet!"

"Too right we will!" shouted Terry, striking a pose.

The other first years shrugged the episode off with a few chuckles and resumed their walk to McGonagall's class, unconcerned – or was that resigned?

The second years, on the other hand, were staring at them in horrified fascination, all the while dripping slowly on the stairs.

_What kind of ridiculous tale will the gossip mill spill about this? _wondered Harry. It was bound to be blown out of proportion by dinnertime…

Or maybe not, as Sky very obligingly provided some other fodder for rumour when he gently addressed the shocked, wet Ravens.

"Would you like me to dry you off? I've just learned the Hot Air Charm…"

All eyes snapped to him.

Leia laughed silently as she watched their bewilderment morph into indignant surprise and then, quickly, eagerness: "You have?", "Already?", "But that's O.W.L. Level!", "Which book was it in?", "Can you teach us?"

Ravenclaws will be Ravenclaws…

Yes, all in all, the first few days at Hogwarts were going by even better than the First Time!

* * *

Hermione drew a deep breath and exhaled it explosively. At last, the dreaded Friday was here.

He peered in the bathroom mirror, staring intently into Harry's green eyes, trying to somehow find her soul in them. It had become a sort of daily routine, but as usual, she could not recognize herself in the emerald orbs. It baffled her that Harry seemed to be adapting so well to _her_ life, when she still felt so completely out of sorts, even when she was under watchful scrutiny and _had_ to keep up appearances.

If nothing else, however, she found unyielding determination in those eyes. Good. She was going to need it today.

With a small sigh, Sky abandoned the mirror and quickly finished his ablutions, mentally preparing himself to be 'Harry Potter' for another day. A day that, unfortunately, was going to include a very cruel, very dangerous and very narrow-minded Potion master…

At least, he thought, with Snape's class looming on the day's horizon, he would be less prone to noticing the awfully irritating attitude of his schoolmates.

For the last few days, whispers had followed him from the moment he left the dormitory, almost continuously. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at 'Harry Potter', or doubled back to pass 'the Boy-Who-Lived' in the corridors again, staring. Murmurs of _"Did you see his face?"_, _"Did you see his scar?"_, _"There, look"_ haunted him.

He'd been wracking his brain to understand how on earth Harry could have coped with it. It was creepy.

Unlike Harry though, Sky had a group of great friends who'd picked up quickly on his uneasiness and everybody's nosiness and had taken to shield him by keeping him in the middle of the group whenever they moved and scowling ferociously to the busybodies.

Even now, as they made their way to the dreaded dungeon where Potions lessons took place, Sky was surrounded on all sides by his protective friends, Leia's arm discreetly bumping his every now and then to show her support.

It comforted him somewhat, but it couldn't quench his nervousness. They had come up with the plan together, but like it or not, most of it rested on him.

He ignored easily the cold and the creepy pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls that were unnerving his classmates and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the unenviable task of playing 'Harry Potter' in Snape's class.

All too soon, the hated voice paused the roll call, saying softly: "Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_."

Sky bit the inside of his lip hard. Despite being a frequent target of that man's caustic remarks, as Hermione she'd never felt such weight of _loathing_ poured on her. It was a miracle Harry had shown up to any Potion lesson after the first at all!

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands and he barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Morons.

Snape finished calling the names and when he looked up at the class, Sky shivered at the coldness and emptiness of his black eyes. _The eyes of a murderer_, he thought grimly.

He effortlessly ignored the introductory speech, falling instead into the regular breathing pattern that would help his concentration for the plan. Everything hinged on his being perfectly relaxed and clear-minded.

But he could do it, he knew he could.

He might never have studied Occlumency, he might have no idea how to defend his thoughts and memories, but between Harry's somewhat jumbled instructions and his own attempts at meditation, Sky knew he was now able to _detect_ when someone was attacking his mind, and that was all they needed.

Mercifully, Leia had been able to help confirming Hermione's skill (being useless at Occlumency didn't prevent Harry from having a real talent at his opposite) so he was less terrified than he might have been otherwise.

Suddenly Snape's hated voice caught Sky's attention, crackling in the heavy silence like a whip: "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Sky bit his lip to refrain from smiling when _all_ the Gryffindors raised their hand, momentarily surprising the supposedly imperturbable Potion master. The impromptu 'Potions review' he'd bullied them into last night was paying off.

Then he took a deep breath and raised his head to meet the dark tunnels of Snape's eyes, baiting the man. He was sure he wouldn't be able to help himself.

He started to say: "The Draught of Living-" and he felt it.

A Legilimency probe – light, to be sure, barely scratching the surface, but it was enough, it had to be.

He screamed and flung himself backward, falling heavily to the stone floor, his hands clutched to his head as if he was trying to stifle unbearable pain.

Here came the most delicate phase of the whole plan, the moment when they needed to perform in such a flawless way as to twist everybody around their little fingers, fooling a wondrously observant spy, outmanoeuvring a master of manipulation, outsmarting the ultimate Slytherin.

Sky had started well enough and likely caught him off guard, but the Potions master was used to react instantly to unexpected twists: Snape's lips were already curled into a sneer, no doubt on the verge of mocking 'Potter' mercilessly and cover his own back by dismissing the incident as a pathetic bid for attention.

They couldn't afford that! Leia needed to intervene now…

But the cry that derailed the Potions master's attempt at defusing the situation came from the Slytherin half of the room.

"How could you; you, you… you _monster!"_ Daphne Greengrass was standing in appalled astonishments, her hair loose, flailing around her in her agitation, a look of utter horror on her face.

"Miss Greengrass, if you think you can insult a teacher with impunity…"

She recoiled from him, taking a step back in obvious fear. "You _mind raped _him!" she shouted hysterically.

Numerous horrified gasps came from every Pureblood child in the room. Apparently, they all knew and feared such a thing. "I recognize the signs! That, that _woman_ did it to Marius! You monster, how could you!"

Her voice had risen to new heights and Sky, still simulating painful gasps while getting to his knees on the floor with the help of Lavender and Neville, saw the worried and displeased crease on Snape's forehead.

The man was clearly reaching the conclusion that he needed to do some immediate damage control, for he swept his long black cloak away and raised his wand to Daphne – to do what, exactly, Hermione didn't know, but he'd been an idiot to underestimate them, even if to his eyes they were just a bunch of untrained brats.

The moment Snape made his move, Leia let loose an _Expelliarmus_ of such force that it not only wrenched the wand from his potions stained fingers, but knocked him against the nearest desk, where he caught himself from his sudden staggering.

Sky shot a brief, surprised look at the girl. With the difficulties they'd both been having with their magic, he hadn't thought she would really risk such a course of action, even if she'd said she would.

With worry, Sky saw that Leia was ghostly pale and swaying in place, even as she kept her wand trained on their enemy. She must have put everything she had in that spell. He didn't have time to fret, though, Snape was already reacting.

The gaze he turned on the girl was burning with such disgust Sky had to repress a whimper, but Terry was a quick study and he cast the exact same spell from the man's other side, mimicking Leia perfectly, though unfortunately, it didn't seem to do much except distract him.

That however seemed to be a signal, and every Gryffindor's wand, along with Daphne's, fired _something_ at the Professor, hitting him again and again until he finally collapsed, much as he had in the Shrieking Shack so long ago, three years from now.

In the panting silence that followed, Draco Malfoy's shriek rang louder than ever: "What did you do! How dare you attack our Head of House! You fools! You attacked a professor- just you wait, you'll be expelled for sure!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron's bellow was just as loud. "You worthless piece of shit, _he_ was the one who attacked Harry!"

"He did no such thing! Potter must be faking it! You are just a bunch of blood-traitors! This is a plot against Professor Snape!"

"It's a plot against _Harry!_ Everybody knows Snape was with You-Know-Who, my dad said so! I bet he's waited for years for the chance to kill the Boy-Who-Lived!"

Dismissing the row to the back of his mind as neither new nor important, Sky focused again on his best friend. Leia was still very pale and her breathing laboured. The Disarming Charm might have been Harry's favourite, but it had clearly taken a lot out of her. They needed to figure out what was going on with their magic as soon as possible.

But it was more urgent to get Leia to the Hospital Wing, and even more urgent to push the plan forward. Especially since their classmates were starting to panic.

Lavender was wringing her hands uselessly. "What do we do? What do we do? Oh, no, oh, no, we're in so much trouble…"

Daphne was suddenly beside Sky. "What he did to you is… is… vile! Despicable! We need to get you some help…"

"Who's going to believe us, though?" asked Seamus practically. "Not the teachers, I don't think, they'll just harp at us for knocking _him_ out!"

Half the Slytherins seemed to be in shock, while the others were lending support to Malfoy in his screaming match; Ron was doing a great job keeping them distracted, anyway, and Parvati was helping him - Sky registered at the edge of his mind that she seemed to know Parkinson quite well, given how _personal_ the insults flying were.

Leia's faint voice cut through the chaos, commanding attention despite being low. "Susan…" she took a deep, trembling breath, then seemed to steel herself. "Susan's Aunt, she's in law enforcement, right? She can probably help us…"

Everybody agreed instantly, evidently relieved to have a plan of action and not too keen on looking at it too closely. Sky stifled a smile. Amelia Bones was the only adult they could hope to do the right thing in regards to Snape, not even Dumbledore could get around her sense of fairness.

Leia was swaying dangerously, though, just how much had she poured into her spell? Sky shook his head, no matter. He could take over and give her a chance to rest.

"Right, then" he snapped decisively, "Ron and Parvati are keeping the Slytherin occupied so we don't have to worry about them for now. Terry, stand guard over Snape, tie him up or something if you can, don't let them help him, if he can tamper with our mind, he can do it to them as well."

Daphne stifled a sob, likely thinking that the man was her Head of House and had access to a quarter of the children of the school at _every_ time. She still looked terrified. Whoever Marius was, it was clear that seeing him attacked had made a lasting impression on the girl.

Terry looked about to faint: "Tamper with… you think… you think he can?"

"He can", confirmed Daphne with a dark gaze. "Legilimency can modify your memories, change your mind about something, convince you to do things… there's no knowing…"

"But how? _How?"_ demanded Lavender, her tone just this side of hysterical.

Sky cut her off: "Lavender, run to the Hospital Wing, ask Madame Pomfrey to come see us wherever Professor Sprout is…"

"She's probably in Greenhouse Three, I heard the second years talking about it at breakfast", interjected Neville helpfully, "and the Hufflepuffs should be in Charms right now, if you want Susan."

Sky nodded in thanks. "Good, then help me up, you, me and Leia are going straight to the Charms class and Daphne, could you please fetch Professor Sprout and get her to come as well?"

Daphne nodded, still visibly upset. "Right away!"

She sprinted out the door and Lavender followed a moment later.

Sky met Leia's grim and tired eyes.

Part one had gone perfectly. Now for part two.

* * *

Of course, the adults weren't very helpful. The tale was, after all, rather farfetched, no matter that it was built on a nugget of truth.

Nevertheless, between Sky and Leia's ragged appearance, the tall tales the other Gryffindors were spinning and Daphne's hysterical ramblings, all the first years were too agitated to settle and many a horror story was being circulated about what Snape had supposedly done in his past. So, Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick decided that the only way to calm the children down would be to actually call Madam Bones and have her investigate the matter properly. Certainly such a course of action would be much better than uncontrolled rumours.

Flitwick went to assist and secure Professor Snape at the same time, waiting for the Aurors, while Sprout supervised Susan as she floo called her aunt; Sky and Leia were hurried away to the Hospital Wing, where they found Ron, Parvati, Terry and a bunch of the Slytherins, all sporting weird spots, barnacles and the likes - the effects of tempers running high in a magical school.

There they were joined very soon by the Headmaster, who kindly but insistently demanded to know the whole truth and grew more and more concerned as they spurred their tales, both careful not to look him in the eyes at any time.

Then Madam Bones showed up, a broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair, with a monocle and a forbidding look that all the same couldn't disguise her resemblance to the more cheerful Susan.

With her were two wizards in Auror robes and another, unremarkable one that Sky dismissed as a secretary of sorts.

Sky observed Madame Bones as she started talking to the Headmaster and the Mediwitch and took deep breaths to clear his mind and steel himself for the interrogation he knew was coming.

Unexpectedly, he felt a slight probe to his mind again. Instinctively, he screamed and clutched his forehead and the terror at the idea of being discovered made it convincing. What was going on? Who would dare?

"Please calm down, you are safe", came a hurried, soothing voice and Sky whipped his head around to watch at the non-descript wizard that had accompanied Susan's aunt.

"What? What's happened? What did you do? Sky, are you okay?" came Leia's frantic cries. The girl was struggling with the bedcovers in her attempt to get up and help her friend.

"Everything is alright, I promise", said the strange wizard again, patiently.

"It is not alright if my friend is screaming!" shouted Leia indignantly.

Sky smiled a little. Harry would never change.

The wizard was both amused and apologetic. "I assure you, it won't happen again. It was my fault, I'm afraid, and I promise not to do it again."

"Do what, exactly?" asked Sky quietly, though he had his suspicions. He must have been tested.

Sure enough, Madame Bones asked briskly: "It is true, then?"

"Yes, he is a natural. I was very discreet, but he sensed me the moment I touched his mind, and it seemed to cause him pain, for which I apologize" he said turning to Sky, who nodded a little uncertain.

"You _attacked_ Sky?" shouted Leia incredulously.

"Please, Miss… huh…"

"Granger", supplied Madame Pomfrey quietly.

"Miss Granger, you must understand. The accusation moved to Severus Snape is extremely serious, and likely to get him sentenced to Azkaban if proven true."

"Azkaban? What…?" Sky asked feebly, in an attempt to divert attention from Leia and keep their cover of ignorant Muggleborns.

"It is the wizarding prison, my dear boy, an awful place of suffering that no one deserves, not if their alleged crimes aren't proved well beyond any shadows of doubt", said Dumbledore gravely. Sky felt a sudden rage and knew Leia was thinking along the same lines: _what about Sirius, then?_

"Surely you don't believe…" continued the old Professor, but he was brusquely interrupted.

"I believe _that man_ belongs in Azkaban, Headmaster, without a doubt. But", and here he turned to the two children, "we had to be sure, which is why I came along with Madame Bones to test your claim."

"Test?" asked Leia faintly. Sky just nodded pensively. He had guessed as much.

"I am Truthseeker, and I work for the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic", he explained lightly.

Sky and Leia's eyes went huge. An Unspeakable? They'd _fooled an Unspeakable?_

"I came with the purpose to test Mr. Potter's claim of having detected an illegal and dangerous mind probe from his Potions professor. I can now confirm that this claim is founded, seeing as he was able to detect _mine_", Truthseeker said in a clipped, official tone. Then he relented and finished, speaking directly to 'Harry': "I apologize for the necessity of causing you pain, and I assure you it will never happen again."

Sky nodded dumbly.

"Also", Truthseeker turned to Madame Bones, "I could detect no shields or other defences. This boy is completely untrained; though it might be wise to correct that. As it is, it was mere chance that he felt the invasion. Or a miracle, perhaps. That a teacher would harm a child so…" he trailed off, not bothering to hide his disgust.

Madam Bones' expression was thunderous. "This implies the question of whether Snape has done this to others and they simply couldn't know."

The Unspeakable nodded grimly.

"Now, now, I am sure this is all just a misunderstanding…" interjected Dumbledore hopefully. Sky noticed how worried he looked, though. He hoped the Headmaster was reconsidering his trust in Snape. A little caution might go a long way to keep their Headmaster alive!

Madam Bones rounded on the aged wizard like a Fury. "Misunderstanding! Whatever the trial will decide in regards to this Snape character's involvement, the fact remains that a child of eleven was _mind raped_ in one of your classes! Do not hope to wriggle out of this, Dumbledore! I will hold you personally responsible for this! Why, I'm of half a mind to take my niece safely home this very moment!"

Dumbledore's eyes widened in alarm and he hastened to reassure the formidable woman about Hogwarts being absolutely safe. Sky ignored Leia's quiet snort and relaxed back on the pillows, exhausted and dazed.

Well, they had done what they could, and it had gone better than could be expected. He just hoped the interest the Unspeakables were taking in him didn't cause problems…

* * *

Snape was taken into Auror custody and left the castle under guard right on time for the end of lunch rush, so that just about every student was there to gawk at him in the Entrance Hall.

After that, rumours flew like wild bugs everywhere.

Sky was stared at even more, ludicrous stories about his 'powers' cropping up with no foundation to build them on at all, not helped in the least by the idiotic bragging of his dorm mates, who seemed to bask in the reflected glory, much to his and Harry's disgust.

Leia, too, got her share of unwelcome attention, as the wild story about her 'taking down the greasy bat in a duel' made the rounds. She could protest all she wanted that nothing could be further than the truth – _she wouldn't last five seconds duelling Snape!_ – the story was too good to hope it wouldn't go down in Hogwarts' unofficial history. Besides, hushed gossip about her 'scaring _Peeves!'_ were finally coming up in conversations as well and they didn't help her reputation any.

The Weasley Twins got detention for daring to thank the two of them in the middle of the Great Hall, bowing exaggeratedly and loudly proclaiming them 'the Liberators of the Hogwarts Dungeons'. Sky wondered if they would ever escape the ridiculous title, or if the absurd tendency to hyphens that characterized the wizarding world would mangle it even further.

Echoes of the unpleasant incident were ricocheting through the British wizarding world, firing up an indignant debate that threatened to spill abroad as well. The story was featuring prominently in the Daily Prophet and articles more or less pertinent appeared on everything published, from serious, specialized magazines like _HealingDaily_ and _Mediwizardry Team Magazine_ to tabloids like _Rumours!_ and _Witch Weekly_.

Hermione had to admire some of teachers' professionalism. Despite the uproar, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout were doing everything in their power to keep the school going smoothly and the children focused on their classes and following their usual routine.

They weren't having much luck, but the attempt was commendable.

Dumbledore was seldom at the school, busy as he was with his attempt to smooth things over and with the demamds for explanations coming both from the Ministry and from the Board of Governors.

He had attempted to approach Sky several times but Hermione had remained cautious and showed himself distrusting – which was a perfectly understandable reaction, even if it frustrated the old Headmaster to no end.

Leia and Sky felt a bit bad in causing such troubles for a man they admired greatly, but since they were doing it mostly for him, they stayed strong in their resolution of keeping Dumbledore at a distance and forcing him to open his eyes to Snape's duplicity.

Even had Sky given in, however, and withdrawn his accusations, there would have been no sweeping the fact under a rug, not with Madam Bones going public with her opinions and the results of the investigation, not to mention the Greengrasses threatening to take their daughter to Beauxbatons, backed by several other panicked families.

Because of the frenzy the incident had spurred and the delicate political nature of the situation (involving not only a child, but _this_ child, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, etc.) the Minister in his infinite wisdom pushed for throwing the culprit in Azkaban without further ado, to the acclamation of most of the wizarding world.

Leia and Sky grimaced in disgust, but such was their world; the only redeeming grace was that Dumbledore used his influence in the Wizengamot to stop the blatant miscarriage of justice, pressing instead simply for an immediate trial. And if it left a bitter aftertaste in their mouth that he could do so for a Death Eater when he hadn't bothered for Sirius, it nonetheless relieved them that Snape was, indeed, getting a proper trial.

So it was that no more than a week after that fateful Friday, news reached Hogwarts about its consequences.

* * *

Leia methodically blasted pumpkin after pumpkin to smithereens, continually conjuring up another, identical one only to smash it or blow it up immediately.

Hermione just watched her from the armchair he'd turned a dusty stool into, vaguely wondering _why pumpkins?_ Probably because they were easy, he guessed.

He knew better than to try and stop his friend; besides, there was nothing wrong in venting. No-one would come looking for them in this out of the way, abandoned classroom and if they did, they'd trip his alarm perimeter in time for them to put their masks back on.

He contemplated joining Leia with a few curses of his own, but he felt more tired than in a destructive mood.

Eventually, Leia wound down and didn't replace the destroyed squashes anymore.

For a few, long moments she just stood there facing the wall, her breath coming in harsh pants. Then she dejectedly cleaned up all traces of pumpkins splattered around (it took her several tries, which calmed her down further) and turned to Sky.

Hermione obligingly transfigured another armchair for her to sink on, ignoring the fact that it came out rather lumpy and discoloured.

Silence stretched between them and Hermione wondered how to best approach the subject they needed to discuss.

In the end, though, it was Leia who said: "I suppose, short of telling Dumbledore the entire truth, this is the best we can get."

Hermione leaned back in the armchair contemplating.

Dumbledore had gone all out to protect his would-be murderer and there wasn't really much they could do against him.

She scowled. She'd never really realized just _how much_ power the old man wielded. It was positively frightening, even if it _was_ Dumbledore.

Still… they had achieved some results at least.

Snape was on probation.

Professor Aurora Sinistra had taken over as Head of Slytherin House. She was a skilled Astronomer, though not very passionate about the subject she taught, and generally considered serious and strict. That was about all Sky and Leia could put together about her from their memories. It made her a much better option than Snape, anyway.

Furthermore, a Supervisor had been nominated by the Guild of Potioneers and he would attend all of Snape's classes to insure his professionalism.

That had caused quite a stir.

The title of 'potioneer' was given to every witch or wizard who made potions for a living: professional brewers, potions inventors and researchers, potions teachers at a wizarding school, private tutors, private healers... Very few of the 'potioneers' were Masters however.

And while the Guild kept Apprentices, Journeymen and 'Lesser Potioneers' under strict control, once a brewer achieved the status of Master they could virtually do _anything_ and the Guild would turn a blind eye.

They _had_ turned a blind eye the First Time.

But Madam Bones wasn't the only parent or guardian appalled at Snape's actions: every Pureblood had rebelled, flooding both the Headmaster and the Ministry with panicked Howlers. Sky cynically speculated that the idea of someone rummaging in their children's minds and finding out secrets that were none of their business must be frightening even to the most callous of Dark Families.

On top of that, Leia had managed to mention the idea of writing home before the Headmaster could enforce a lockdown of the Owlery, so their entire group had informed their families timely.

The muggleborns' parents being scared and appalled had added to the confusion tremendously, mainly thanks to the connections that had been formed over the summer. David had written to Leia that he and Julia had maintained the acquaintance with all of their friends' parents and, with the help of Lavender's grandmother, had started to organize a sort of 'support group' for muggle parents of Hogwarts children. The initiative seemed to be having some success, even so soon after its starting.

_We were going to wait until Christmas holidays to explain our ideas and what we're doing to be more present in your life_, was in one of his letters, _but recent events make me think it's best if you know all, so that you can trust some of the other parents if, for any reason, you can't come to us…  
_And also: _If we can't trust that school to keep our children safe then we must find a way to do it ourselves, and belonging to a different world will not stop us if we work together…_

Sky was amazed at this turn of things and waited avidly to see where it would lead.

For the moment, her parents and their friends had managed to make their displeasure known like no muggle had been able to before, simply by _buying_ Howlers from a very accommodating muggleborn employee of the Owl Post Office in London, who cast the spell for them, allowing their letter to state very loudly and in no uncertain terms what they thought of the _esteemed Headmaster_ and of the _Ministry of Morons_.

It had shocked a good deal of the complacent wizardfolk and a deluge of alarmed articles on how 'even Muggles were disgusted with the perpetrators of such horrors' and 'the honour of wizardry was at stake' flooded the papers.

On the whole, the 'unpleasant incident' could not be ignored by anyone and The Guild, embarrassed by the bad light it threw them in, had decided to interfere.

In order to avoid a dangerous precedent that would have had every other Potion Master up in arms before they got investigated too much themselves, however, they had dug up an almost forgotten little rule in their Statute that didn't allow a Potion Master to practice other forms of magic without another Mastery or explicit permission. It was a rule everybody ignored as a matter of course, because it was simply ridiculous, but it allowed them to jump at the technicality of Snape practicing Mind Magic when he was not, in fact, qualified for it as an excuse to interfere, thus saving face with the rest of the wizarding world without upsetting the status quo.

So now Snape's lessons would be reviewed by another Potion Master. Sky snorted. The Supervisor would likely be kept under close scrutiny to avoid them turning a blind eye; it would take them less than a class period to be forced to intervene if Snape stayed true to his teaching methods!

_Wonder what will come of it_..._ who knows, we might end up actually learning something… we sure could use more Aurors and Healers in the future…_

Another, even better result of their plan came from Madam Bones, whose worry for Susan pushed into commissioning and delivering with record speed a special ring, able to detect mind probes.

It couldn't shield the thoughts, but if the mind was touched at all, the ring would glow bright red and a screeching alarm would start off.

Madam Bones had apologized profusely for being unable to provide them for everybody else, since she couldn't afford it; Sky had only waited for Leia's reassuring push before volunteering 'Harry Potter's' vault.

Leia was ecstatic and told Sky time and again that it was money well spent. More than!

Besides, 'Harry Potter' had got a lot of good publicity for that and as a consequence many 'upstanding members of society' had fought for the privilege of sharing the expenses (and making the paper report their generosity on a cause that had everybody's favour right this minute).

Sky had taken meticulous note of the Crafter's name and address: anyone able to create such useful magical items in such a short time and big quantity was someone worth knowing and keeping a civil relationship with. You never know when it might be of use.

What truly mattered was that they had some relief now from the constant fear of a mind probe exposing them.

Moreover, Daphne had come through with books on Occlumency from her family's library. As Sky soon found out, he'd been correct in thinking there was no such thing as a book on Occlumency, but diaries, work journals and grimoires kept in the families insured that even this kind of esoteric knowledge didn't go lost.  
Apparently her father had been scared enough to want her prepared sooner rather than later (she would have been taught, normally, after she gained her O.W.L.s, she informed them.)

Daphne's information practically guaranteed that they would all become Occlumens, even if by the looks of it, it would take them years.

Hermione had a feeling that sharing the information with the Club had been Daphne's own idea though and that it would likely not be approved of by her family. It was rather difficult to understand where the girl stood. She was making her way in Slytherin with the cold ruthlessness that had gained her her nickname the First Time, viciously rebuffing any attempt at including her in this group or that: she was no supporter, but set herself up as a powerful loner. Yet she came back to the group every few days, seemingly craving their companionship, help with study, whatever, only to grow distant again, and then come back once more. It was bewildering.

On another matter, Dumbledore had lost a lot of clout defending a guilty man, but not nearly enough to have them worried about the future. He hadn't lost any real power, which was both relieving and daunting. Anyway, he would have to stay on his best behaviour for a while; but the two knew they could still count on him to protect the Wizarding World at large should a crisis arise… like Quirrell's 'guest' trying and taking advantage of the uproar to advance his own agenda…

As Leia so aptly put it, it was the best they could get.

For now.

* * *

_A/N__ 2: About Snape.__ To all those who wish to rake me over the coals for 'mistreating poor Snape', please refrain, unless you have some valid reasons to disapprove of my work. While I wish I could say with honesty that any and all criticism is welcome, the truth is that if you want to rant about my handling of the character, I want you to at least keep in mind that:  
__1) I'm writing from Harry and Hermione's POV__ and at this point, they know nothing of Dumbledore's plan: in their eyes, Snape is a traitorous bastard that has already murdered their beloved leader and will do it again if given half a chance;  
2) __for pity's sake, folks… no__! The fact that Alan Rickman is an excellent/sexy actor is NOT reason enough to suddenly make Snape likable! No matter who is portraying him, the character Rowling created always has been, and always will be selfish, misanthropic and petty, regardless of his acts of heroism during the war: he only helps Harry grudgingly and makes his life hell whenever he gets the chance, he's stuck in a teenager's grudge and can't get past the whole James angle to see Harry as a person. He was brave, his actions commendable, but that doesn't make him a paragon of all that's good and generous and gracious! (Seriously!) If you feel such a need to express your appreciation for Mr. Rickman – a truly good actor whom I greatly admire – by singing the praises of the characters he gives life to (rather than, say, laud his acting skills) then I recommend his interpretation of Col. Brandon in Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility!  
__If, however, your criticism goes beyond __these two pet peeves of mine, feel free to tell me what you think – and don't pull your punches! I definitely want to know if I've managed to stay true to the character or if I've blown any chance at believability for good…_

_A/N 3:__ About Sirius.__ Before you ask, yes, I do have plans for freeing Sirius, they just haven't occurred to my characters yet. Things like this take time after all, and suddenly going to the past hasn't given Harry and Hermione any special superpower that allows them to achieve everything instantaneously! _


	10. 10 Of Quidditch and other Sirius matters

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N:__ Just as a reminder... 'Leia' is Harry in Hermione's body, 'Sky' is Hermione in Harry's body. And, well, sorry about the title :D I couldn't resist the overused pun..._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_10__. Of Quidditch and other Sirius matters_

Leia bounced on the balls of her feet, too giddy for words.

Widespread drama over Snape's trial or not, the school was keeping to as normal a schedule as feasible and that meant… Flying Lessons!

Her smile had been brilliantly contagious from very early morning and she'd hardly been able to keep still for longer than ten seconds straight.

She was going to fly! She was going to fly!

At three-thirty that afternoon, all of the first years Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson.

The Slytherins were already there, but even that couldn't mar Leia's wonderful mood, because so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground and really, if she had to play nice with the Snakes to get on one, she wasn't sure she really cared. Nor did she care that they were just school brooms, the old and slightly average kind, that started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left, or had some of the twigs sticking out at odd angles: a far cry from her trusted Nimbus 2000 (not to even mention her awesome Firebolt…)

Why would she care for such minor details?

She was going to fly!

Madam Hooch arrived, with her strange eyes, yellow like a hawk and just as keen in spotting fouls and at her barked order, Leia skipped excitedly to stand by a broomstick.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP" everyone shouted and Leia's broom obediently jumped into her hand at once. Glancing around, she saw that Sky's broom was in the boy's hands too: her best friend looked rather flabbergasted. Most others however simply hadn't moved at all, or had just rolled over on the ground. The Slytherins, with the exception of Malfoy, didn't fare any better.

Leia waited with growing impatience as Madam Hooch walked up and down the rows, showing them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end and correcting their grips.

When the teacher finally – finally! – told them to "kick off from the ground, hard" on her whistle, Leia eagerly jumped on the broom and spared a thought for being thankful that Sky was looking after Nev because she could never have mustered the concentration to calm the other boy down and prevent his accident, not with how excited she was.

She rose in the air…

...and a wave of crushing disappointment fell on her.

The air ruffled her hair just right, her robes whipped out behind her as they'd always done, but… but the fierce joy that had always rushed through her as she soared on a broom wasn't truly there… flying was fun, it was exciting, yes… but it was no longer easy, no longer _wonderful._

She couldn't understand why exactly, but it was as if, in his previous life, calculations he'd barely understood and fairly taken for granted had raced through his head, touching on the speed of the wind, the momentum of the broom, and a dozen other factors, and now… now instead of simply knowing the converging point of those calculations, it was like she was expected to actually solve them, and then explain to her body how they translated into movement.

Oh, she was still good on a broom – amazingly good for someone who had supposedly never flown, as Madam Hooch immediately remarked – but it came from how long she'd flown and practiced in her previous life, from how much time she'd spent honing her instincts and thinking on every move even out of the pitch… it was no longer as natural as breathing.

Disappointment and a little bit of envy filled her as she glanced over at her best friend. Sky didn't look to be particularly enjoying the activity, but certainly moved through the air with a confidence and grace that Hermione had never mustered, not even after years of lessons. _He_ was a natural, and didn't even seem to appreciate it. It was so unfair!

They performed the simple manoeuvres Madam Hooch set them to, ignoring the Slytherins' taunts with ease… well except for Ron, who was, rather predictably, squabbling with Malfoy; but they both got reprimanded by Madam Hooch and lost a few points each, without affecting the others much.

Then Parvati, who was flying on her right, let out a dismayed cry: "My hair pin!"

In slow motion, Leia saw the bright pink hair pin that had been the centre-point of that morning's drama slip from Parvati's fingers and fall towards the ground.

All she could think was 'Oh, Merlin, no, not the bloody pin!'

It had been quite enough to bear the Indian girl's wails at the thought of the stupid thing being nowhere to be found, first, then at its being broken when Parvati found it stuffed under one of Lavender's make-up chests. Apparently it was a present from her favourite aunt and the mere idea of losing it was too distressing for anything less than tears. The only thing that had saved the poor girl from a nervous break-down was that Leia's own tentative _reparo_, while somewhat jumbled for the standards she was used to from her First Time, had managed to close the clasp properly again, if not to unbend the bruised thing.

And now it was going to be lost somewhere on the grounds? Not on Leia's watch!

She might not have her infallible air instincts anymore, but she did have experience to compensate for it.

Before anyone else could react to Parvati's cry, she was already plummeting in a steep dive, arm extended to grab the little thing that was so conveniently the rough size of a Snitch.

She vaguely heard screams and gasps and admiring whoops from the other first years, but she ignored them and merely leaned fully forward, shooting towards the ground like a javelin; wind whistled in her ears, exciting, exhilarating, she stretched out her hand steadily and a mere foot from the ground she caught the little thing, perfectly on time to pull the broom straight and avoid crashing in the grass.

She came out of her dive, muscles burning after the unfamiliar effort, hair pin clutched securely in her right hand, a huge smile at the return of the thrilling rush of flying, and regained consciousness of the rest of the world that out of habit she'd tuned out during her stunt, only to hear a cacophony of shouts – admiration, scolding, the after-effects of terror, shock, enthusiasm…

Then McGonagall's voice thundered through the courtyard, appalled: "Miss Granger!" and she froze, wide-eyed, torn between crying hysterically at the irony or breaking into mad laughter.

Her Head of House was running toward them, glasses flashing furiously in the sun, and she was almost speechless with shock: "- how _dare _you - might have broken your neck -"

"I don't think I've ever seen something like this, Minerva!" interjected Madam Hooch with awed excitement. "_Never _— in all my time at Hogwarts — she's a natural! Why, she's muggleborn, wouldn't you know, this is her first time on a broomstick! A natural, I tell you!" she enthused. "That was a fifty-foot dive, fifty-foot, Minerva! And she still caught that thing in her hand and didn't even scratch herself!"

"Merlin be praised for that!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "But it _is _indeed amazing. Even Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. Come with me, Miss Granger. I think you can safely be excused from any further flying lessons!"

_That _would have upset her, if she didn't have an inkling on where, exactly, McGonagall was taking her; when, a few minutes later, they stopped to knock on Flitwick's door, she had to bite her lips hard to stop the enormous grin that threatened to overtake her face. She couldn't _believe_ this…

But sure enough, McGonagall said the thrilling words: "Miss Granger, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker."

* * *

Later, she found out that she'd missed another small drama at the end of the flying lesson.

She arrived back to the Gryffindor Common Room, when Wood finally let her out of his sight, to find the first, second and third year boys gathered around Neville, all clutching bottles that she recognized as butterbeer.

"What's going on?" she asked, making everybody turn to her.

Sky answered exasperatedly: "Neville has a week's worth of detentions!"

That threw her: "What! Whatever did you do?"

It was Ron who answered, voice full of glee: "He broke Malfoy's nose!"

"_What?"_

"Yeah, Leia, you should have seen it!" shouted Terry excitedly. "It was totally brilliant!"

"Amazing!" added Seamus, grinning from ear to ear. "The ponce was just sprouting nonsense about Nev here being a crybaby and not brave enough for Gryffindor and wham!" He mimicked a punch to an invisible opponent.

"We decided that such a fine example…"

"…of upholding our noble House's pride…"

"…and showing up the dreadful Snakes deserved…"

"…a bit of celebration, so we…"

"…procured butterbeer for the hero of the day and his supporters!" finished the Twins chorusing.

"He totally earned it! You should have seen Malfoy's face… ha! Who's the crybaby now, huh?" shouted Ron.

"Here, try it! You'll love it – everybody does…" said Lee Jordan with a friendly smile, holding up a bottle of butterbeer.

She took the bottle and then turned to Neville: "So let me get this straight", she said, "you got in an argument with Malfoy, he insulted you and you… punched him, hard enough to break his nose?" she asked, a little incredulously. Shy, peaceful Neville? Who'd taken more bullying from the Slytherin than even most of the Hufflepuffs? Punching Malfoy? And he wasn't even in the hospital wing?

Neville flushed, but raised his head high, clearly torn between being ashamed and defending his actions: "He stole my Remeberall! He totally had it coming!" he protested.

Leia stared at him. Dear Merlin, she'd forgotten the Remeberall; she sure wouldn't have imagined the incident to go down this way!

Then she grinned widely and stood straight, saluting the brown-haired boy with the bottle raised in a toast: "To Neville Longbottom, the Lion with a Mean Right Hook!" she cried theatrically.

Cheers went up all around, even as Sky groaned in exasperation and Nev turned as red as a tomato at the very loud praises.

* * *

The impromptu celebration went on for a while, expanding to include her own amazing stunt along with Nev's triumph, which was her occasion to officially meet the Gryffindor Chasers, all too happy to have another girl on the team.

It was not long however before George (or was it Fred?) took her aside and, to her shock, apologized for Ron's thoughtless comments at the beginning of the year, claiming it was his duty to smooth things over, what with her being on the team and Ron being – unfortunately – their baby brother.

"Ickle Ronniekins isn't a bad kid, you know", he said with a genuine smile for her, "he just needs a bit of time."

"Time?" she asked a little sceptically.

George's smile gave way to a frown of concentration and he looked at her seriously. "I can tell by the way you and your friends hang around each other like it's the most natural thing in the world that in the muggle world things are different, but among wizards… well, children before Hogwarts tend to be rather isolated, you know? We Weasleys are lucky, there's seven of us!" he laughed lightly. "But even then… there's only three other wizarding families in the area we live in, and the Fawcetts are somewhat dark, so Mum wouldn't let us associate with them. The Diggorys only have a son, as you might know…" he trailed off suggestively and Leia groaned at his mischievous smile.

This 'crush' business was really becoming tiresome!

"What I mean is, Ron has only ever interacted with two girls, little Gin Gin, our baby sister, and well, sisters don't count you know… and Luna Lovegood and she is…" he tutted a bit, as if uncertain how to politely describe his neighbour, then seemed to find the words and proclaimed proudly with a sunny smile: "completely barmy!"

Leia gave him an unimpressed glare.

"Oh, no, no, don't take me wrong! I like her, and I totally find her brilliant, but the point is, well, she isn't the kind of girl who can inspire respect to a kid like Ron, you know? Plus, neither Luna nor Ginny are interested in Quidditch".

Leia refrained from snorting. From what she knew, Ginny had been breaking into the broom shed and secretly practicing with her brothers' brooms years before Hogwarts!

"Just give Ronniekins a chance to figure out there are smart and awesome girls out there and he'll come around, you'll see!"

Leia couldn't help smiling at the cheerful boy. She kept her sigh strictly internal: if only it were so simple… but she merely nodded to George.

Sure enough, when Ron found out that she was the youngest house player in about a century, he was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at her. Then he started going red in the face and stuttering if she talked to him, and Leia groaned in horrified dismay. Merlin, she did _not_ need this!

At least he seemed too young for an actual crush and very soon went back to being a tactless prat most of the time, most notably in class – unless Quidditch was mentioned.

Leia wasn't impressed however.

Was this how it would be, then? Half the time he'd keep his distance because she was a girl and girls had cooties; the other half he would keep his distance out of awe for her flying skills?

She didn't know what was worse!

The easy friendship they'd once shared seemed more and more out of reach…

* * *

At least she had Sky.

Sky who was absolutely _awesome_, as was borne out the following week-end, while they were heading to the empty former-classroom that Flitwick had offered them for the meetings of the Sky's Club.

The tiny Professor was over the moon about their idea and had been seen bouncing with excitement as they explained the various 'games' they'd come up with to him, much to everybody's amusement. Leia was just thankful that the 'exercises' seemed to be working, at least a little: Transfiguration was still beyond her, but Charms were once again controllable, even if it took a bit more concentration than the First Time to get the desired results without… flourishes.

All thoughts of sparks and targets flew from her head, however, when Sky dragged her excitedly behind a statue, hurriedly casting a _muffliato_ and then scowling because it didn't work. Sky seemed even further than her from control of his magic.

Amused, she grabbed her friend by the arm and led him a little further down the corridor; she parted the folds of a faded tapestry and motioned Sky toward the newly revealed passage behind it.

"We'll keep our voices down", she said, "nobody should notice us here. Now, spill!"

Sky shook himself and the excited glimmer in his eyes returned.

"I've got it!"

Leia's eyebrows rose, smiling: "You've got what, exactly?"

"I know what we can do for Sirius!"

Leia's amusement vanished, she was instantly serious.

"Here's my idea…" Sky said, starting down the passage and carefully sidestepping a pool of dirt on the narrow floor.

Leia listened intently, and cautiously let herself hope. It was risky… it would attract unwanted attention to them… but it might actually work.

Sky and her started the first phase that very night, thankful that their banishment from the Library was finally over, and drew the entire Club into the research that should, hopefully, give them the right excuse to act.

* * *

Hermione knew that her plan to help Sirius might well expose them to a variety of problems, ranging from their true knowledge of events being suspected to their moving up the timeline so much they would lose the advantage they now had.

Despite this, she couldn't bring herself to give up on the idea, nor to keep it from Harry even for a few months. She might have always thought Sirius an immature bully in dire need of support from a Mind Healer, but she had nevertheless felt a certain amount of affection for him, simply because of how much Harry loved him, and she didn't want to waste even one hour in getting him out of Azkaban.

Thus she found herself outside the door to McGonagall's office, after a few days of carefully staged preparations that had involved the unaware members of the Sky Club (she'd made it a point to drop the genitive, because as little sense as a Club named after the apparently dome-shaped blue-grey expanse extending upwards from the horizon made, naming it after _her_ – or was it Harry – made even less sense).

Sky took a steadying breath and knocked.

"Come in!" came the brisk voice of his Head of House.

He pushed the door open and hovered on the doorstep, for a moment overcome with nerves.

Could she do this? Was it the right thing to do? Would it work?...

Then she steeled herself and marched in, grim and determined, closing the door at his back firmly, if with shaky hands.

"Mr. Potter", said McGonagall, managing to sound both perplexed and welcoming at the same time. "Is there a problem I can help you with?"

"Yes", he answered, and then immediately, "no, I mean, yes, but… not… not a problem. I mean…" he fidgeted a little, "it's not about schoolwork or such. That goes well, hum, aside from the fact that I still explode half of my transfigurations", he smiled weakly, "but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about…" He realized he was babbling but he couldn't seem to stop.

McGonagall seemed to recognize this too: "Mr. Potter, why don't you take a seat?" she said gently. "Here, have a biscuit."

She held out the battered tin box of Ginger Newts that she always took out for 'serious' conversations with her lion cubs and Hermione felt herself relax.

She'd always trusted her Head of House firmly and the familiar 'ritual' that had marked so many conversations about her difficulties adapting to the wizarding world, her ambitions, or her mad adventures at Harry's side, helped her immensely. McGonagall had always been a source of staunch support for her.

She knew Harry, while harbouring some deep affection for the old witch, was much more reserved and a lot more disillusioned towards her, but she thought part of it was Harry's peculiar and not always warranted distrust of adults. She thought the times he felt McGonagall had 'failed' him – not believing him, not helping him – were justified in the wider scheme of things and the old witch had her complete trust.

So Sky took the offered seat and a biscuit, and plunged head first into the matter, pleased that his voice was only slightly trembling: "Professor, what can you tell me about Sirius Black?"

McGonagall nearly dropped the tin box in her shock.

You could have heard a pin drop in the resulting silence.

The Professor's voice was unsteady when she finally asked: "Where d-did you hear that name, Harry?"

Sky blinked in surprise: he didn't think he'd ever heard McGonagall use first names, in either lives.

"The Club has been helping me research my past, Professor", he explained, keeping himself calm.

It was true, too: he and Leia had roped everyone in the endeavour.

"We found…" he hesitated briefly. "Well, we found a lot of gibberish and balderdash, and ground to sue most publishing companies in the wizarding world the moment I turn of age and it'll be legal for me to do so," McGonagall was gaping by this, "but we also found _two_ books – out of nearly seventy! – that seemed somewhat concerned with reporting the _truth_, rather than sensational drivel or nonsensical hogwash!" He had to interrupt his tirade to draw breath and took the chance to compose himself. She hadn't meant to go off like that, but it was always hard for her to find books... disappointing.

McGonagall's face was a study in shock and he fidgeted under her stunned stare.

"Anyway", he coughed a little, embarrassed, "both the books mentioned Mr. Black and…"

"What…?" interrupted McGonagall, gulping a little. "What books, if I may ask?"

"_Greatest Magical Events of the XXth Century_, whose authors at least try to restrict themselves to confirmed facts, amazing I know, and _An overview of the Seventies, Magical versus Muggle_", he answered promptly.

"I've never heard of the latter", said McGonagall dazed.

Sky sniffed disdainfully. "Probably because the author is a Muggle, so, of course, Flourish&Blotts doesn't sell it!"

"A _Muggle?_" squeaked McGonagall. "Impossible!"

Sky narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"

"Well… well… the S-statute of…"

"Secrecy? It does include a clause about muggle parents or spouses, does it not?"

McGonagall inhaled sharply, apparently shocked beyond belief.

Sky didn't bother to hide his irritation: "Patrick Finnigan, Seamus' dad if you're wondering, married a pureblood witch, Rosie McKann, from the oldest line in County Down I'm told, and is the father of three magical children, thus the Statute doesn't apply to him. He is also, imagine that, a great academic who specialized in historical research and is well-known in the muggle world for his popular works on History."

That had been quite the surprise. Even she, Gryffindor's very own bookworm, hadn't ever found out that Seamus 'Firewhiskey Smuggler' Finnigan had a scholar for a father, before.

"I- I had no idea…" said McGonagall faintly.

"Of course, since he is unable to publish in the wizarding world: apparently nobody wants to read the work of a Muggle, never mind that his research is widespread and detailed like nothing the Magicals have produced!"

McGongall was speechless.

"Seamus was over the moon when the Club agreed to buy Mr. Finnigan's work. We've found that it is the most reliable, the most accurate, and the most sensible account on that fateful Halloween available. _And_" he stressed, remembering Harry's comments, "it lines up with what little memories I have of that night, unlike any other poppycock tale I've found!"

"You… you remember…" McGonagall looked horrified.

Sky averted his eyes and shrugged. "Very little. But I do get nightmares about it from time to time. Anyway", he raised his head again, chin stubbornly set. "I want to know who Sirius Black is, was, whatever, and what part did he play in my parents' deaths", he said, his tone growing harsher.

"There is no need for you to concern yourself with..."

"I want the truth!" he said forcefully.

"You are very young, Mr. Potter, and..."

"It's _my parents_. It's _my life_. I want to know!" He drilled the Professor with a burning gaze. He would not let her weasel out of this! Too much was at stake to let her cowardly scruples delay the conversation.

She hesitated, twisting her hands nervously.

"Mr. Potter… Harry… you're still a child. A very mature child, but nonetheless… there are things that…"

"He betrayed them, didn't he?" he cut her off, voice completely devoid of any emotion.

McGonagall gaped. "How…?"

Sky smiled, grimly and bitterly. "I'm not stupid, you know. The hints may be vague, but once you put them together…"

And she had a rather unfair advantage, but she wasn't going to mention _that_.

"He's in Azkaban for being a supporter of the Dark Lord. And the school's record that Madam Pince helped me look up my parents in always have James Potter and Sirius Black listed together: detentions, pranks, whatever, if you just look at the books, they were inseparable. Like best friends."

McGonagall's eyes were full of tears and she nodded mutely, overcome.

"Besides, Draco Malfoy came upon us in the Library when we were researching and he taunted me a lot about how, if it were him, he would want revenge over Black… he was delighted and smug that I didn't seem to know what he was talking about…"

Well, this last part wasn't true, but it _had_ happened in their third year, so Hermione squashed the vague guilt about lying, and possibly getting the worthless blond in trouble. He had it coming anyway, even if he was more tolerable this time than in her previous life.

"Oh, Harry", sighed McGonagall. She was silent for a while, lost in thought. Sky didn't interrupt her.

Finally she sighed again. "Truth is, I still have trouble believing it," she said despondently. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought… I mean, I remember him so well from when he was a boy here at Hogwarts. He was one of my lions and... teachers shouldn't have favourites, of course, but I must confess, I had a soft spot for him and… and your father." She gulped as if to swallow tears. "If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead. But I suppose bad blood will out in the end… he came from a very dark family…" she trailed off sadly.

Sky bristled. What was it with the wizarding world and their obsession with blood? So Sirius' family was dark, so what! It had still produced two war heroes for the Light, considering what Regulus Black had done. Yet nobody would ever find out because they automatically accepted that 'bad blood outs'... But he didn't dare interrupt.

McGonagall focused on him, sad and steady. "He is accused of a lot of horrible things, and no doubt he did many more that will never come to light."

Sky fought to refrain a scowl.

"But the worst is certainly what he did to your parents. Your guess about his relationship with your father is correct… they were indeed best friends. I could hardly ever see one without the other... Black and Potter, ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers —"

She shook her head desolately. "You'd have thought they were brothers, the way they acted. Inseparable!"

She closed her eyes as if pained by the memories.

"It goes without saying that your father trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then…" she faltered.

Sky knew what she didn't want to say: that they'd named Sirius Harry's godfather. He didn't think McGonagall would voice the fact. She would believe that the idea would torment Harry too much… Hermione herself remembered all too well how Harry had been after they'd heard this very story hidden behind a Christmas tree, two years from now…

"Then he turned out to be in league with Voldemort?" he asked to help her out, and ignored her flinch at hearing the name.

McGonagall regarded him desolately. "Professor Dumbledore, who was as you can imagine working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once that You-Know-Who would be after them. He advised them to go into hiding and suggested that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" said Sky, feigning being breathless with interest.

"It is an immensely complex spell," McGonagall answered, "that hides a secret inside one person, called Secret-Keeper, making it impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where you and Lily and James were staying for years and never find you, not even if he had his nose pressed against your sitting room window!"

Sky kept his face stone-like as he pretended to guess: "And Black was our Secret-Keeper? And he betrayed us?"

McGonagall sighed. "Your father told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where you were, that he was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Secret-Keeper himself. He was sure that somebody close to your parents had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But then why did my parents still choose Black?" Sky asked, pretending to be distressed.

"I don't know", answered McGonagall sadly, "but barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —" she paused, her lips thinning out to whiteness. "I suppose Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who... he would have been able to do so and claim great honour from the dark side after your deaths... Instead, inexplicably, You-Know-Who met his downfall in a little baby – you - and he fled, horribly weakened, his powers gone. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it —"

"Filthy coward that he must have been", spat Sky, hoping he was being convincingly venomous.

A long silence followed, with McGonagall regarding Sky worriedly.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to go on. How could she lead the conversation where she needed it to go?

At last Sky said: "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him and he is in jail now, right?"

McGonagall bowed her head. "Yes. Although…" she hesitated, evidently unsure on whether to tell the full story as she knew it or not. "It wasn't the Ministry, it was another of your parents' friends. Have you found the name of Peter Pettigrew as well, by chance?"

Hermione thought quickly and nodded. "He received an Order of Merlin, did he not?"

McGonagall gave him a tremulous smile. "For the capture of Sirius Black, yes. Poor Peter… he was always tagging around after your father and Black at Hogwarts. Hero-worshipped them. Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now…"

She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

"He went after Black himself, no doubt maddened by grief… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at duelling… should have left it to the Ministry… Eyewitnesses — Muggles, unfortunately, so they didn't understand much of what they saw — claimed that Pettigrew cornered Black, sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…"

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy… "

Sky clamped firmly down on the temptation to shout out the truth. It would do absolutely no good right now… _Thank Merlin it's me and not Harry here… he wouldn't be able to take this, I'm sure…_

"Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

Sky nodded numbly. Well, that was all they needed. Now to play his part well enough to fool the good old witch.

"Harry", called McGonagall in a coaxing voice.

He shook his head violently. Of course, she would want him to talk about this, not to box everything up… but Hermione didn't feel up to a therapy session that wasn't even aimed at her…

"'m fine", he managed to mumble.

"Harry, you are most certainly not. This is a terrible thing to face, especially for someone so young, and…"

Sky shot to his feet. "I'm _fine_", he insisted. "I just… I need…" his voice was dry and made it hard to articulate properly. "I'll just… I'll go now… homework…"

"Homework can wait, Harry", said McGonagall frowning, clearly worried by his reaction. "Sit down a moment and…" she reached out a hand to his shoulder and Sky bolted for the door.

He heard her half-cry of surprise behind him but only ran faster. Good thing he'd arranged with Leia beforehand where she would wait for him… they'd imagined he might need an escape route, but they'd forgotten that McGonagall had more resources than what was usually apparent… it was mere seconds before he was almost overtook by a tabby cat…

He took a corner at a run and threw himself into one of Harry's secret passages, a dusty, smelly one even the Twins never used, momentarily throwing off his pursuer.

By the time McGonagall caught up with him again, he was in Leia's arms; they were sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs and she was hugging him and murmuring soothing nonsense, playing her part of clueless comforter to perfection.

He didn't raise his head to look at McGonagall and followed their conversation with only half an ear. The important part was done, now he just had to appear properly distressed.

Leia managed to convince a reluctant McGonagall that 'the Club would handle this' and finally the elderly Professor left, shooting them worried looks and muttering about 'talking to Albus'. Well, all they could do was hope the Headmaster didn't decide to involve himself too much.

* * *

They skipped classes, to keep up the pretence of his being greatly distressed, and later when their friends came looking for them, worried by their absence, Sky haltingly relayed everything McGonagall had told him.

It was harder then Hermione had thought it would be, facing them, seeing their eyes fill with horror and anger and pity. She could only be thankful, over and over, that this task fell on her. Harry would have never been able to stand it. As it was, Leia was deadly pale and gripping Sky's hand so hard it hurt, though he would never have admitted it to her.

For a couple of days after that, Sky acted gloomy and depressed, and pretended not to notice his friends watching him nervously, not daring to talk about what they'd discovered, but apprehensive nonetheless, and spending most of their time either whispering at his back, or trying to shush the most exuberant among them, especially Seamus, who had some colorful choice words for the situation – and for 'that scoundrel Black'.

McGonagall tried twice to get him to talk, but he deftly avoided her well-meaning insistence.

Then he and Leia agreed that it was time for part two of their plan.

He disappeared into his dorm for a few hours and came down to find that Leia, as agreed, had gathered all the first years Gryffindor with an excuse. He went up to them, pale and grim, and asked quietly: "Does any of you have a camera?"

They hesitated, perplexed, shooting each other worried glances: they'd been treating him like a china doll, thought Hermione with a bit of annoyance.

Leia saved the day, asking quietly: "I'm sure we can find one. Why do you need it?"

He smiled grimly, and explained his plan.

Admiration and determination entered their friends' eyes as they listened, and they got to it.

It turned out Hannah Abbot had a wizarding camera and the Sky Club had a lot of fun taking the most outrageous pictures of all of them; Sky pretended that they were cheering him up – and it wasn't a lie either: even if he wasn't truly depressed, the light-hearted fun and laughter would have lifted anyone's spirit.

Then they chose the best one, a group shot with each and every member of the Sky Club hugging each other in a big puppy pile on some desks and laughing, with 'Harry Potter' prominently in the centre… and Ron's pet rat, that Leia had quite determinedly but very sneakily included, fully displayed on the redhead's shoulder, mutilated paw catching the eye easily.

Hopefully, the picture would work like the image of the Weasleys in Egypt that had appeared on the Daily Prophet had, and spur Sirius into action, especially since this time 'Wormtail' was so close to Harry.

McGonagall was flabbergasted when they trooped to her office to ask if it was possible to send a letter to an Azkaban inmate. She looked overwhelmed when she read Sky's neat writing on the back of the picture: _You didn't win. You never will._

Sky could tell the moment McGonagall was converted to support their plan, by the glint of steel that entered her eyes. As Hermione well knew, the elderly Professor was a Gryffindor at heart and she would fully approve the strength and defiance and sheer _daring_ of their move. Flaunting the fact that 'Harry Potter' had survived and was _happy_ in the face of the man that had supposedly done everything in his power to destroy that happiness forever.

It had actually been Harry who came up with the sentence and Hermione knew it was her friend's truest attitude, the amazing strength that would always carry him through anything Fate threw at him.

She had always admired his resilience immensely and this was yet another instance of it.

Though a part of her was ill at ease with his extreme adaptability.

Only a couple days before Leia told 'him' in confidence that 'it was much easier talking to Neville now than when I was a boy'.

It threw Hermione badly. _She_ would never refer to _herself _as a male, or as a 'former girl', not unless it was essential to their deception. She couldn't believe that Harry was starting to talk of himself as a _girl_, for Merlin's sake!

It was true that Harry had always been extremely adaptable, taking most of what destiny threw at him in stride, but she hadn't expected him to adjust to the Switch so soon. Or ever, actually.

She didn't say anything to him, but moved her research about the ritual and how to reverse it near the top of her list, right after the Horcruxes. She didn't want to remain 'Harry' forever, nor did she want them to have troubles readjusting to their real selves later on!

* * *

Since they'd decided to make their move on 'Quirrelmort' on Halloween, and that was still three weeks away, Sky and Leia were looking forward to a pause before the next storm, especially since McGonagall had warned them that it would take a while before the letter to Azkaban could get through the security there.

In the meanwhile, things were more or less back to normal, their friends didn't walk on eggshells around Sky anymore, classes were starting to pick up their pace, Terry and Seamus had managed to land themselves in detention for rattling the door of the forbidden third floor corridor while off 'exploring' and Neville's Gran had sent him a letter that was such a weird mixture of ferocious disapproval for his getting detention and surprised praise at his standing up to 'the spawn of that despicable woman, Narcissa Malfoy' that the boy had read it aloud to the Club, much to everybody's amusement.

All they still had to dread, for a while at least, were Snape's classes; the dark man had been glowering at Sky from a distance and shooting him such venomous looks that he was starting to feel a little nervous, despite it being unlikely that the former Head of Slytherin would risk attracting more attention to his treatment of 'Harry Potter'.

Even if they hadn't managed to neutralize him as they'd been aiming to, however, it seemed as if they had at least guaranteed him a headache, which explained his worse than standard mood: it appeared a confirmed and undeniable fact that Snape and the Supervisor had known and _disliked_ each other long before this mess even started.

The tall, rather plain woman the Guild of Potioneers nominated as Supervisor, whose name, it turned out, was Lavinia Norland (and Sky had rolled his eyes in exasperation when Leia had given him a blank 'Who?' stare – honestly! She was the Potions Mistress that had radically changed the theory behind brewing specialized antidotes, only a couple years in the future! She'd even discovered several draughts effective against uncommon poisons, including the Angel's Trumpet Draught and the Bloodroot Potion, how could Harry not even have heard her name?), was a stern, no-nonsense witch with a penchant for sarcasm and according to several accounts had already taken Snape to task about his lack of proper instructions to the students and his apparent unconcern with the very idea of teaching.

The rumour mill was already spinning wild tales about their 'relationship' before now.

Snape was actually a Vampire (apparently that particular rumour would never grow old) and had tried to turn her in the past, but she'd escaped, and that was why they hated each other; Snape had been madly in love with her and she couldn't stand him and had rejected him and that was why they hated each other; Ms. Norland had been Snape's Apprentice and she'd had to run away because he was too cruel with her and he'd never forgiven her for abandoning him and that was why they hated each other; Snape's father had had an affair and Ms. Norland was actually Snape's illegitimate half-sister and they were jealous of each other and that was why they hated each other...

Sky had heard all of this and a couple even more outrageous hypotheses, the only truthful nugget of which was the fact – clear as day – that the two couldn't stand each other.

Having the advantage of a few years of knowledge on the rest of her schoolmates, Hermione was aware of the fact that Snape had not believed Lavinia Norland capable enough for a Potions Mastery and had blocked her achieving the title twice, something she had never quite forgiven, before she'd managed to arrange to be judged by a different Committee and had been hailed a 'genius of brewing', something that Snape had considered a personal affront. And _that_ was why they hated each other. But as it had only come out a few years from now, when she'd used an interview after her success with the antidotes to rub it in his face that he'd been wrong about her, Sky kept his mouth shut and just amused himself listening to the ridiculous rumours.

He just wondered what it was going to be like, watching the two of them interact in class...

* * *

It was, however, before they even had the chance to have a second Potions class that a worrisome potential snitch in their plans presented itself to effectively distract them, in the form of a new teacher being introduced at dinner.

"In light of the recent concerns that have risen, with regards to the dangers posed to all of us by Mind Arts users", said Dumbledore, and for once his tone was anything but cheerful as he addressed his students, "the Ministry has decided to add a new course to our curriculum; a course that will teach several meditation techniques and cover the basis of Mind Shielding."

Sky and Leia stared at him wide-eyed. They were adding _Occlumency_ to the _curriculum?_

"The course will be offered as an elective to everybody fourth year and up, as well as to a few selected younger students who will prove particularly apt at it," continued Dumbledore, and his eyes strayed to the end of the Gryffindor table, where the first years sat all together.

Sky moaned softly. This was for him, he just knew it. Leia's hand found his under the table and squeezed.

"Your Heads of Houses will soon inform you of all the relevant details. For now, let us welcome Professor Ermin Croaker", the Headmaster finished in an encouraging tone, and started clapping.

There was some scattered applause from the student body, and a great deal of excited whispers.

Sky noticed that Dumbledore looked less than pleased with this turn of events. Well, of course... the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts much sooner than they had the First Time... Hermione was less than happy herself and definitely worried: just how much had their attempt at getting rid of Snape effected their world?

"Croaker, Croaker…" mused Leia wonderingly. "Why do I have the feeling that it has something to do with Quidditch?"

"Because you think everything has to do with Quidditch!" snapped Sky snarkily.

It wasn't fair to Leia, but Hermione was feeling out of sorts and on top of that, 'he' was rather miffed that Harry had managed to land herself on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team despite being in _her_ body.

Just what was she to do when she was back to her body, pray tell? Sure, flying wasn't as horrible as it used to be anymore, but that didn't mean 'he' _liked_ it! She could barely _talk_ about Quidditch, playing was a ridiculous idea.

It was deeply unsettling to imagine herself clad in the red and gold of the flying uniform, streaking in the air in one of the absurd moves Harry was bound to want to try. _If he breaks my neck with a False Wonsky, so help me I'll…_

"I do not!" cried Leia indignantly in response. "And there's no need to be nasty!"

"Besides", she added after a moment, lowering her voice so that only Sky could hear, "I think this is the same as that Gregorovitch business."

"Huh?" said Sky intelligently.

"You know!" insisted Leia. "When I dreamt that V- that _he_ was looking for Gregorovitch, and the name was sort of familiar, and I thought it had to do with Quidditch, and it turned out it was a wand maker instead and I'd associated it with Quidditch because he'd made Kr-… err… a famous Seeker's wand…"

Sky stared at her as she trailed off.

"You… have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Sky shook his head and murmured stiffly: "I suppose you discussed this with… ah…"

Leia nodded, looking uncertain.

Sky didn't even know why he was upset. As 'Hermione', she'd always known 'the boys' had a different relationship between them than they had with her… it had never mattered before that Harry and Ron had talked about things they didn't share with her. Why did it suddenly seem important?

"It was a nightmare…" was saying Leia apologetically, "and, well… I guess… I guess I just forgot later…"

"That's okay", said Sky and almost winced at how flat it came out. It _was_ ok, was it not? Why was he upset anyway?

He shook his head briskly and said: "So you think he might be connected with a Quidditch player? Or..." Hermione's agile mind was already connecting dots that barely seemed to be there. "Maybe it's about the Quidditch World Cup. It's the only event in your life that is related to Quidditch but not to Hogwarts and we did meet a lot of people there... maybe he was one of those Mr. Weasley introduced us to?"

Leia's eyes widened. "Not introduced. Pointed out. Remember? _Bode and Croaker_..."

Sky frowned, not understanding the other's nervous tone. Then he registered Leia's words and froze, the name 'Broderick Bode' forever etched in her memory because of the man's horrid death in St. Mungo's: "Bode... he was an Unspeakable!" he hissed.

"Is", corrected Leia, "and so is he", added with a jerky nod to the High Table, where the new Professor was having a lively conversation with the Astronomy teacher.

"We are in so much trouble", Sky moaned, closing his eyes.

* * *

_A/N:__ I received a review from a reader worried that '__it has beeen 6 months and you are only in the first week of classes' and advising that I should perhaps 'try not focus on such tiny details and get to the big points of the story'. At first, I confess, it made me laugh, because if you check 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone', it takes Rowling 8 chapters out of 17 just to arrive to the first week of classes; as it's only normal when you're creating a world, because after all, you don't want to interrupt the action-filled last chapters to stop and explain something you didn't include before, so the 'tiny details' need to go earlier. However I then thought on it a bit and I admit that I enjoy describing the little things immensely, so if I'm going overboard, I'm not likely to notice. I'm asking all of you then, do you want me to speed things up? Concentrate on pushing the main points of the story forward? I could easily wrap up most sub-plots instead of expanding on them. Just drop me a line in a review and tell me your preference, will you? _

_(__To aboulhosncc__, I realize your main concern is about my suddenly abandoning the story in mid-plot. I have no intention of doing so, but I also cannot offer any guarantee that I'll manage to continue as I plan: RL has a way to mess up the best intentions… Luna)_


	11. 11 The best laid plans

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N__: Thank you to all those who answered my question about the pace of this story! Your input is much appreciated!_

* * *

_WARNING__: If you're squeamish about explicit gender-bending matters, I recommend you skip the part between the symbols: o * o * o._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_11.__ The best laid plans_

_THUMP! _

A stack of books was unceremoniously dumped all over the table where Leia was trying to sort out her homework and the girl raised her eyes to watch her exasperated best friend slump on the seat across her.

"Aargh! This makes _no sense!" _Sky cried frustrated, letting his head fall on his crossed arms.

Their cosy common room was empty. Only the first years had Wednesday afternoons free and most were taking advantage of the first sunny day in a week to enjoy the grounds. With Halloween ever closer and their plans for the 'Troll Incident' looming on them, however, both Harry and Hermione felt the need for some time for themselves and they'd therefore claimed that they wanted their homework out of the way as quickly as possible.

Understandably, this was taking Leia longer than Sky, for the simple reason that Harry hadn't bothered with all the theory the First Time, just skimming enough of the books to get by. With the weird way their magic was behaving now, though, he couldn't afford to slack on the 'understanding-the-hows-and-whys' part anymore, so he was actually doing all the work he'd cheerfully skipped the First Time.

At least his grades were rivalling Sky's now and admittedly, studying seemed to get somewhat easier with every new assignment, probably because he could actually remember the previous ones this time and use them as reference.

Nevertheless, it was bothersome.

Leia tried to turn back to _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, where she was trying to find the answer she needed, but Sky didn't seem inclined to let her.

"It just makes no sense!" the boy moaned again, face buried in his crossed arms so that all Leia could see was the mop of hair that used to be his.

Leia sighed. "What makes no sense?"

"Look!" the boy upturned his bag with dramatic abruptness and gesticulated at the number of small items that spread around, most of them moving on their own in some ways.

Leia blinked.

Among the various odds and ends, she quickly identified the rigid, hollow shell they'd used in the last Transfiguration class: it now moved, somehow self-propelled, about the table surface, changing direction whenever it contacted an obstacle too large to drive over. A small storage box that she recognized as hers (though to be honest it was _Hermione's_) seemed to have grown four legs and pattered about in a circle. One of Parvati's colourful hair clasps was flittering around like a bizarre butterfly. And there was a miniature man in a footballer's uniform marching awkwardly about and emitting a tune that was probably an anthem of some sort.

"Is that Dean's…?" she asked, unable to come up with anything meaningful.

"Luděk Mikloško miniature, yes" answered Sky curtly, impatience in his every gesture.

Leia gaped, momentarily sidetracked: "How on earth do you manage to remember a name like that?"

Sky gave her a dark look. "It's all that boy can talk about. Apparently Mikloško was voted 'Hammer of the Year' just last May and it's kind of rare for a goalkeeper to be chosen, if I understand it right, and as Dean himself plays in that role, he's over the moon about it."

Leia contemplated for a moment asking elucidations about the 'Hammer of the Year', but she had seen the double hammers crossing over a castle of Dean's favourite team's insignia often enough and she was sufficiently familiar with Quidditch to guess it was the title for the best player of the team. She also considered asking how Hermione had found out so much about the black boy's passion in a month when Harry hadn't gathered even half of that in six years, but let it go.

Instead, she returned to the topic that was distressing her friend: "Alright. You've enchanted a few knickknacks. What about this doesn't make sense?"

Sky shot her a dirty look that Leia felt was totally unwarranted.

"I shouldn't be able to do that", he said succinctly.

Leia frowned. "Why ever not?"

"Remember this summer? That box I enchanted?" green eyes peered up at her, upset. Leia nodded.

"I didn't have a problem with that either! And I should have! Children of eleven aren't supposed to have enough power to _enchant_ things! Bewitching an item, even when you know the spells well and can cast them easily on a temporary target, requires much, _much _more power!"

"But you clearly have enough", said Leia slowly, trying to figure out what the problem was.

"Exactly! I can do it! I can blooming enchant this stuff! Even if I shouldn't be able to! So why can't I do a simple charm?"

Ah, so that was it. Their wonky magic.

"You can do _some_ charms", she tried to point out.

"But not with any reliability! It's more luck than anything else, these days!"

Since he'd always more or less relied on luck in order to learn new spells the First Time, Harry wasn't sure how to answer this.

"I don't know, Her- _Sky_, I have no idea. I'm having problems too and there doesn't seem to be a logic to it. I mean, I can cast a Colour-altering Charm easily if I just concentrate a little, or that Measuring Charm that weighs something with high precision, but somehow a simple _lumos_ still gets away from me, either changing the colour of the light randomly or continually varying the intensity…"

"And when I tried the levitation Charm, the pillow I was using shot to the ceiling so fast it exploded in a shower of feathers" griped Sky. "A Levitation Charm! Just about the simplest thing on the book! Yet I can do _that_", he gestured to the singing goalkeeper. "It makes no sense", he concluded frustrated.

Leia shook her head. "I wish I had an answer, but…" she trailed off. "Meanwhile, can you tell me why asphodel and moly can't be grouped? There's nothing much different between the two!"

"Oh, well, it's about the way they react to external environmental variations, like heat for instance…" Sky launched into one of his explanations and Leia tried her best to follow. Sorting the long list of basic ingredients in the sixteen groups that supposedly classified the component of Potions – something Harry hadn't even heard about the First Time – was harder than it looked.

Of course, it didn't help matters any that they had yet to have a proper Potions lesson.

After the first, disastrous one and the three lost during Snape's trial and then dealing with its immediate consequences, there had been a week suspension due to an O.W.L. class blowing up the room on the first Monday of October. Details on the matter were still rather sketchy, but the Weasley Twins were determined to ferret out every information to be had, 'for research purposes'. Read, to recreate the effect in a controlled prank- ehm, environment.

So it was only on the second Friday of October that the Gryffindor first years had actually returned to the chilly dungeons.

By then, even the most clueless students were aware of the barely veiled hostility between Snape and Supervisor Norland; Leia had enjoyed watching covertly the forced, mockingly overdone politeness between the two.

Judging by the seething glares from Snape and the gleeful maliciousness with which the Supervisor insisted on formalities like being greeted with respect, it was easy to guess the bad blood between the two was of long standing.

Leia could only snort. That bastard had probably made enemies everywhere. With such a charming personality…

It was when Snape, after a snarled roll-call, had waved his hand at the blackboard and grunted his standard 'Instructions are on the board. Begin!' that the troubles had started.

"Excuse me, Master Snape", had interjected the Supervisor, with a poisoning sweet tone utterly belied by her vicious sneer. "I was under the impression that this was the class' first Potions lesson, yes? Wasn't the previous one interrupted, after all?"

"So?" had bit out Snape from clenched teeth.

"Are you sure the children are sufficiently prepped on lab safety?"

Leia and Sky had shared a wide-eyed look: lab safety? What was she talking about?

"I don't know what you mean", had said Snape in dangerously bland tones.

The other's face was a study in incredulity. "Are you setting the children up with dangerous tools, fires and potentially lethal cauldrons _without so much as a speech on lab safety?_"

Snape had sneered: "If the dunderheads can't even figure out how to not cut their fingers off they don't belong here!"

"They're _eleven!_"

"And considered old enough to brew!"

"No, they're considered old enough to brew _under careful supervision_! Are you trying to kill them, Professor?"

"How _dare _you!"

Leia had recognized the murderous look on Snape's face as the same one he'd had facing Lockhart at the Duelling Club, and had promptly and quietly packed up everything on her desk, absently noticing that Sky was doing the same with as much alacrity and, thankfully, everyone around them was following their lead.

They'd made it all the way to the corridor before the first hex had exploded behind them.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, the next Tuesday, had been luckier and had managed to sit through a whole class on lab safety procedures, despite Susan reporting to the Club that Snape had been 'utterly bored and even nastier than usual'.

Sky, of course, had bullied the entire Club into doing the homework the Puffs and Ravens had received. Leia hadn't even put up the token protest most others had attempted. For one, she knew her best friend too well to hope it would work. And for two… some of the stuff they were going over was truly interesting. That simple Lid Charm that put a temporary, invisible membrane above the cauldron surface to avoid the risk of uncontrolled substances contaminating the concoction would have been mighty useful against Slytherin sabotage!

The look on Snape's face when every Gryffindor (and Daphne, but she was on his black list too, for her part in the Legilimency debacle) had turned up for class with their homework in pristine order, showing up the other Slytherins in the process no less, had been priceless.

The jerk had had the gall to take off points from all of them, for their 'arrogance' in daring to do some research he hadn't formally assigned.

Ms. Norland had exploded in outrage, furious about his idiotic attitude and shouting that he was sabotaging the very Guild of Potioneers by stifling the young ones' will to experiment and research outside confirmed boundaries. She'd brought up stats about the number of Auror Trainees and Healers in training since Snape started teaching, too, and Leia had been rather horrified in realizing how much that man was crippling Wizarding Britain.

Snape, of course, had taken every word as a personal insult and retorted in kind; so they hadn't learned anything that day.

Unless you counted seventeen different brand new insults, an anatomically detailed description of the ways in which Snape resembled a clabbert in looks, behaviour and personal hygiene and a meticulous account of Norland's family's highly questionable choices of careers and even more questionable personal habits as 'something', at any rate.

And the previous Friday they'd arrived in the Potions class only to find the two already at each other's throats, wands flashing dangerously and screams too overlapping and confusing to understand what it was all about, though Seamus and Terry swore they'd heard Norland calling Snape a 'guts-griping bag of guts' – which had immediately become a very popular insult.

Susan and Kevin had been unanimously elected to report to the Club what the luckier Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class actually did during their lessons, and were essentially teaching Potions to their Gryffindor (and one Slytherin) peers.

And that, Leia supposed, was what they should be content with, given the utter lack of concern about education in this area their faculty was showing.

* * *

Despite the troubles with Potions class, the ever-looming threat of Voldemort roaming the halls of Hogwarts and the thousand one things they had to worry about, Leia was having a very nice time.

Perhaps it was because she was now almost constantly busy with things she'd always enjoyed, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week and so much time spent having fun with her friends, be it quietly chatting with Sky, exploring with Terry, playing Exploding Snap with Nev or whatnot.

Perhaps it was that the lessons were becoming more and more interesting as she went beyond the surface of the basis and actually delved into the theory that made the world around her work.

Perhaps it was simply that the dearly loved castle was, as usual, making her feel right at home.

Whatever the reason, Harry felt that everything was going well.

Which is, he reasoned, why the universe just _had_ to screw him over- _again_.

o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o

On Halloween morning, Harry sat frozen on her bed in Gryffindor tower, careful not to move a single muscle, in case it would trigger the panic she could feel tightly coiled inside him.

Oh, he wasn't completely clueless about what was going on.

Seamus' far too many flings and his tendency to brag made for rather… educational… dorm sessions among boys. And after the third time he'd been Bat-Bogeyed for no apparent reason, Hermione had taken him aside to tactfully explain Ginny's monthly mood swings. Add to that the 'talk' Julia had given him before school, twenty minutes of utter humiliation that he'd done his damn best to forget entirely, and he was fairly knowledgeable about his problem.

_Her_ problem, rather.

This was most definitely a _her_ kind of problem.

And no matter how much his inner _male_ soul was rebelling against the whole thing, it was most definitely _her own_ problem.

She looked at the red evidence on the sheets and tried to figure out how to move without breaking into panicked shouts. Or blush so much in embarrassment that he would have heart failure for lack of blood outside his cheeks. She just needed a few minutes to sort it all out in his head and then she'd deal with it, really. A couple minutes. Or hours. Or-

Of course, Lavender chose precisely that moment to fling Leia's curtains aside.

Leia squinted in the sudden sunlight. The other girl was already talking, fast and chirpy: "…so I told her I wouldn't do it, but that you might, so we must get down early so she can explain, and what are you doing still in bed? You need to… oh!"

Leia blushed in complete mortification as Lavender trailed off, realizing the situation.

Then, to Leia's dismayed shock, she squealed: "Oh Herm! Look at you! This is fantastic! Congratulations!"

Congrat- what the hell! What was that air-head going on about now?

"We must celebrate!"

What? That was the _furthest_ thing from his mind! This wasn't fantastic, this was a disaster! A calamity!

"Oh, but we can't let the boys know a thing!" she giggled, in Leia's opinion rather stupidly. "We'll have to celebrate just us… Are you going to write your mum? Is she going to send her present?"

"P-present?" squeaked Leia, completely stunned.

Lavender blinked: "Well, of course! It is a sign that you're no longer a child, you see, of course it should be celebrated!" said Lavender earnestly. "When it happened to me, Grandmamma bought me the most delightful dress! It's all blue, but with all these rhinestones scattered all over the taffeta weave and it has such a very fine crosswise rib that it looks like it's all a plain wave of smooth fabric and…"

"What's going on?" interrupted the sleepy voice of Parvati, as the Indian girl approached sluggishly.

She blinked owlishly at Leia's stained sheets, making Harry blush again in total chagrin. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Oh", said Parvati without much inflexion. "First time?"

Lost in a mortifying daze, Leia nodded jerkily.

Parvati nodded again with sympathy. "You poor you. Padma and I went through it at the end of August. Wasn't nice, I can tell you…"

"…but only as decoration for the side pockets and their flaps!" finished Lavender, who'd been in her own little fashion-centred world for a while. "Hey, are you even listening to me?" she said crossly.

From somewhere in the depths of his humiliation, Harry dragged out enough voice to croak: "Er- could you- that is- let me- bathroom- please?" and accompanied it with a desperate, pleading expression.

The two other girls looked perplexed for a moment, then Parvati exclaimed: "Oh, of course! Come on, Lav!" and mercifully latched on her best friend's arm, dragging her away.

Harry hurriedly escaped to the bathroom, yanking the sheets with her, and wondering if her face would ever lose her red tint or if she would be hopelessly mortified for the rest of his life.

She managed to get herself cleaned and changed like Julia had taught her, mainly by the stratagem of forcing himself to think about his _Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare _all the time, while going through the motions mechanically. Hey, if it worked against Aunt Marge's abuse, it could work to temporarily ignore his utter embarrassment over the whole thing!

She grumbled a bit about how there better be a simpler magical method for the whole ordeal, until she realized that in order to find out, she would have to ask Pomfrey. Or – she gagged at the thought – _McGonagall_.

Not. Happening!

He took a very deep breath when he felt he was somewhat decent again, and firmly told himself that he would simply ignore The Problem and pretend It wasn't happening and most importantly that It _wasn't happening to him_.

That plan went out of the window almost immediately, as The Problem decided to manifest itself in a way that prevented him from ignoring it: cramps. Severe cramps to be precise, in all her lower belly, painful enough that she could barely walk straight.

Damn it all to hell! How could he have ever thought there might be anything good about being female? He must have been on high!

Lavender and Parvati poked into the bathroom after a while, quite worried about her.

"Oh, dear. I told you… Not. Nice", said Parvati shaking her head desolately.

Leia bit her lip hard to avoid scowling at the girl for the complete uselessness of her comments.

Lavender fretted worriedly: "Oh, this is so awful. I mean, it's normal, but it's so awful too. Do you need a pain reliever, Herm? I don't have any but I'm sure we can find someone…"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey will surely give you something", added Parvati helpfully.

"It's not that bad" ground out Leia. She was _not_ going to be fussed over about this! He would never survive the humiliation!

"You should still go to the Hospital Wing", declared Parvati implacably.

"We'll take you", said Lavender quickly, cutting off her retort. "Here, let me help you fix your hair…"

Too incoherent to protest the idiocy of worrying about her hair in such a dreadful situation, Leia was pretty amazed to discover that having it brushed gently did make her feel better.

One thing was sure. The female genre was an uncharted territory, full of unexplainable mysteries, and being a girl didn't seem to offer him any key to unravel them!

She walked through the corridors convinced that every portrait there was gawking and muttering behind her back, and dreading the possibility of running into someone and having to explain.

And yes, she realized she was being ridiculous and she realized that It was perfectly normal and happened to every girl her age and older.

But it was just _not fair_ that he be forced to cope with this! It wasn't even _his_ body that was behaving so weirdly! Why did he have to endure this messy... thingy?

Lavender and Parvati left her at the door of the Hospital Wing so they would manage to grab some breakfast before class. She thought the entire concept of eating was too gross for words. How come humanity hadn't found a way to avoid it yet?

Madam Pomfrey, thank Merlin for small mercies, was brisk, professional and totally unfazed, which helped Harry immensely, as he could focus again on his _Broomcare Handbook_ while the Matron went on about the 'necessary explanations' – which he would have happily done without – and the details of the potion she was giving her.

Turned out there was a whole shelf of it. How had he never noticed? Oh, right, he hated the Hospital Wing and tried not to think of it more than strictly necessary and he hated Potions even more and tried not to think of them even when it was necessary.

All she registered of the Matron's speech was that it would take several hours for the potion to work the first time, but then every month it would relieve her pains instantaneously. She sighed.

"Why can't I just turn into a boy and be done with it?" she bemoaned.

The mediwitch just chuckled: "Because it's one of the few things magic can't do, my dear."

Leia stared, suddenly alert: "Huh?"

"Well, even magic has its limits, I'm afraid. There are things you simply can't do... like conjuring real food from nothing, or give life back to something dead. Turning something male into his female version and viceversa is one of those things. Oh, people have tried... from time to time someone pops up attempting a gender-bending potion, or a charm or whatever, but it never works. I'm afraid you're stuck like this, young lady!" she concluded cheerfully. "Now drink up and lie down a while."

Madam Pomfrey bustled away and Leia leaned back on the fluffy cushions, wondering. Was the mediwitch wrong? Or, what? Had he done the impossible _again_, this time dragging Hermione along for the ride? Or was there a different explanation altogether for the Switch?

She was distracted from her musings as Sky entered the infirmary, eyes full of worry.

"Lavender said you were here… She didn't give a reason, but I suddenly remembered that I had my first period today and…"

Leia chocked.

How could Sky say something like that without the faintest trace of embarrassment! Why was he even here, Leia sure as hell would have kept far away from The Problem entirely in his place!

"At least you had the sense to come to the hospital wing…" said Sky, apparently oblivious to Leia's discomfort with the whole conversation. Scratch that, with the whole _situation_.

She couldn't believe she was about to discuss It with… with… She didn't even know why sharing this experience with _Hermione_ was even worse than everyone else, but it was.

Maybe because for the first time, Harry realized that this was _Hermione's_ body and the fact suddenly made him awfully uncomfortable.

But Hermione just went on chatting, as if it wasn't horribly awkward to discuss the workings of a body she wasn't inhabiting anymore, in front of the unfortunate sod that had accidentally taken over!

"I didn't, you know. Come to Madam Pomfrey, that is. Didn't want to risk losing classes… big mistake" the green-eyed boy shook his head ruefully. "I felt awful and was on edge the whole time. I've often thought that Ron's insensitive words would not have hurt so much if I hadn't been feeling so down already... not that I regret it, of course, but… anyway, I beat myself up for not coming sooner when I finally started using the potion… it's brilliant, you'll see, the two holidays I had to go without before I learned how to brew it properly were _nightmares_…"

Leia whined: "You're _not_ helping!"

Sky's retort was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the Gryffindor Chasers.

"Hey girl!" called Katie cheerfully. "Lavender told us…"

Leia moaned in distress. "Is that nitwit advertising this every-bloody-where?" she cried.

Alicia chuckled. "No, no… or, well, not much. She seems to think it's cause for celebration. Apparently wherever her grandmother is from it's custom to give gifts to the girl on this occasion… weird, huh? At least she isn't talking where the boys could overhear. It's girls' business after all"

"Exactly", barked out Angelina. "Which means… Potter, out!"

"Huh, ah, right… hmm… I- I'll see you later, Leia…"

Harry just moaned again, eyes tightly shut against the cruel, mean world.

"Right, Hermione", said Angelina briskly. "Now, I know you probably feel awful, but the sooner you learn a few things the better."

Leia's eyes flew open in alarm. "Learn _what_ things?"

"Well", said Katie carefully, "this is going to happen every month, you know…"

"Don't remind me!" snarled Leia.

"And do you plan on sitting on a broom like that? Or on giving up Quidditch during those days?" asked Alicia pointedly.

Leia stared in horror. He hadn't even thought about Quidditch! How on earth did female players handle this?

"Thought so", said Angelina smugly. "Here's how we Quidditch gals go about it…"

Half an hour later, a thoroughly traumatized Harry watched his team-mates leave with merry goodbyes, well-aware that he now knew more than he'd ever wanted to about how athletes handled The Problem. He also distantly worried that he would not be able to drink milk unthinkingly anymore, not after the lecture on amenorrhea, estrogens and the importance of calcium.

Later in the afternoon, however, he found himself raising a small, heartfelt thank-you to the girls for their timely visit when Oliver Wood dropped by, terribly concerned about his Seeker's well-being and awfully embarrassed about approaching the taboo topic.

Leia was all too grateful to be able to hurriedly claim Angelina had already explained everything. As awful as having the talk with the older girl had been, the idea of sharing it with _Oliver_ was ten times worse! She shuddered at the mere thought!

Wood seemed just as relieved and patted her shoulder awkwardly before all but running from the Hospital Wing.

o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o * o

It took several hours, but the potion eventually worked its miracle and Leia felt fine again – and more than ready to forget The Problem at last, and possibly never even mention It in passing again. Maybe that would help him survive the traumatic experience. How did girls deal with how weird their bodies were? Never mind, he didn't really want to think about it.

Needless to say, Madam Pomfrey tried to keep her in the Hospital Wing much, much longer than was even reasonable. Leia didn't protest overly much, too used to the mediwitch's ways to hope it would do any good.

The moment Madam Pomfrey was out of sight, however, she threw the covers aside and was out of bed.

He didn't care what the Matron would say.

He'd promised.

He'd _promised_ Hermione that he would never leave her alone.

No way would he break his promise over some silly belly cramp! Come hell or high water, he would be at her side at tonight's feast and they would face 'Quirrelmort' and his troll together!

She didn't bother getting dressed, knowing it would increase the chances of getting caught, she just grabbed her clothes and ran for it.

Six corridors and two sets of stairs later, she ducked into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, beyond relieved to find it empty of annoying ghosts, and quickly got changed.

Then she slipped out and started running again towards the Great Hall, hoping to make it to the Feast reasonably on time.

Suddenly, as she rounded a corner at top speed, she was doused into the peculiar, disagreeable sensation of icy coldness that meant she'd run through a ghost.

She skidded to a halt and turned to mumble a hasty apology, but the words dried in her throat as she recognized the blank staring eyes, gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood.

Floating before her in all his pearly, gory glory was the Bloody Baron!

Her jaw dropped in shock when the silvery, iridescent form raised an eyebrow (did _all_ Slytherin know how to do that?) and _chuckled_.

The Bloody Baron, the unsocial, gloomy and much-feared Slytherin ghost, was _chuckling_.

"Ah! The infamous Miss Granger!" he said, and his voice was hoarse and grating, making Leia shiver while thinking of un-oiled chains and dry emery. "I should be very cross with thee, young lady."

Huh?

"For over three hundreds years I have been the only one Peeves feared. Yet erewhile thine arrival, thou hast usurped this honour… an untraded complement for a lady as young as thee, doest thou not agree? I yarely admit, thy audaciousness leaves me emulous indeed!"

The ghost gave her a feral grin. Leia just stared at him, mouth agape, too busy mentally deciphering his odd speech to truly grasp what he meant. The Bloody Baron… was _jealous_ of her, because of the prank on the poltergeist?

Just how weird could her life become?

"Huh… should… should I apologize, sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Nay", said the ghost lazily, waving a hand elegantly in a dismissive gesture. "Thou art not at fault, I should believe, nor should I forspeak thee for thine act of hardiment… Thy blank wast not to abuse or con, I know. I wonder though… where art thou going in such hurry? I should attask thee, thy behaviour is rather unbecoming of a young lady, running amock is for peasants!"

Leia bit her lip. The Bloody Baron was reprimanding her for running in the corridors. Bloody hell, this was too absurd for words!

"I promised a friend that I would be at the feast tonight, sir, and I'm rather late…" she explained, barely even knowing why she was giving the sinister spectre with the weird speech-patterns the time of day.

The ghost nodded his translucent head thoughtfully. "Aye, I too have an engagement for the night… Sir Nicholas' Deathday Party, a long-standing tradition in our establishment… it would not do to dwindle much. A pity… thou art an interesting witch, thy haunt should mayhap enkindle me…"

That… meant he wanted to hang out with her?... possibly…

"Oh, hm, uh, well… maybe… maybe I could come see you another time?" asked Leia cautiously.

The ghost's pearly eyes bore into her, making her fidget. He was truly creepy.

"Thou may", he said at last.

And he floated away regally.

Leia just stared after him, thinking wildly: _What just happened?_

* * *

The first official Tournament of the Sky Club, taking place on Halloween right after classes, had gathered more people than Sky had expected.

He glanced uneasily at the group of Slytherins that had shown up without warning and were now keeping to themselves. He didn't know what made him more nervous, Malfoy's smug grin, that promised trouble, or Nott's intent gaze fixed on him. Hopefully, the presence of an excited Professor Flitwick would keep disturbances to a minimum.

He wasn't very comfortable with having them there; they had come prepared though and had presented their case to the cheerful Professor in such a light as to make their exclusion impossible. _A Club with the goal of expanding the circle of a student's friendship beyond House boundaries should be open to everybody…_ whatever. That might be right on principle, but the motives of the Snakes were suspect at best, Sky thought.

Anyway, he had once more been spared the task of dealing with the situation. Justin had reacted first, pointing out loftily that a _club_, by its own definition, was exclusive and that it was the club founders' right to set standards for acceptance. Daphne had jumped on the idea, setting standards like 'having to be polite to every member of the club at all times', which earned her twenty points from Professor Flitwick and had Malfoy close to chocking at the idea of treating the Muggleborns civilly.

It had been very elegantly handled, and all Sky had had to do was bop Ron on the head before the redhead's bigotry got _him_ thrown out for being rude to the Slytherins. Sky had caught a nasty glint in Daphne's eyes that told him she had hoped Ron would fail to heed his warnings. The girl positively despised the red-head. Sky couldn't even blame her, even if it made him sad: Ron was invariably rude to her.

Still, once more Sky had found himself on the sidelines of a confrontation that the First Time would have likely seen 'Harry Potter' right at its centre. He wondered why that was. The Club making everybody more confident? Harry being determined to make up for his obsession during sixth year by utterly ignoring Malfoy now? Their not being as close to Ron as they used to? The red-head was certainly involved in nearly all confrontations with the House of Snakes…

Whatever the reason, Sky didn't mind: she'd never particularly enjoyed that element of their lives the First Time. It gave him a vague unsettling feeling though, as he couldn't help but think that keeping track of all the changes might well be a task above their skill: let's not even mention controlling them…

Dismissing the isolated Slytherins from mind for the moment, Sky made a quick head count of the rest of the children, who were much more relaxed and mingling happily.

The whole Sky Club aside for Leia was here, plus the Weasley Twins, who somehow always managed to take part in everything fun – and as they merrily pointed out, what could be more fun than shooting bright, colourful sparks and blowing up stuff?

They had dragged along not only Lee Jordan, but Angelina and Alicia too, which naturally meant Katie and her friend Leanne were there, and most of the second year Gryffindor boys had tagged along. Hermione wasn't particularly happy to endure Cormac McLaggen's bragging – apparently his uncle had taken him hunting nogtails in Norfolk for the first time the previous summer and that, somehow, gave him the right to preach about aim and shooting ranges and such. He was just as unbearable now as he had been at Slug Club meetings.

Kevin, a bright yellow whistle on a cord around his neck, started barking instructions left and right: he'd really taken to organizing the Tournament with utmost seriousness; soon everybody was either taking a turn at the targets, or cheering and booing the other players with vigour.

The Twins sidled up to Sky and took him aside discreetly, taking advantage of everybody's distraction.

"Listen, Harrykins", one said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "You know that our dad works at the Ministry?"

Sky nodded, frowning. He couldn't fathom what this might be about.

"Well," said the other, "he seems to know just about everybody there, judging by how many people stop by to greet him cordially whenever the chance arises, and he has a habit of keeping up a running commentary of who's who if we're with him…"

"…so we really know a lot about the Ministry and who works there."

Sky nodded again, more slowly. "So?" he asked cautiously.

"So, we can tell you…"

"…that the new Professor…"

"…that Croaker guy…"

"…is an Unspeakable", they finished together.

Sky, remembering he shouldn't know much of the Wizarding World yet, feigned confusion. "He's what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to…"

"…but it's never good news when they take special interest in someone".

Sky looked from one oddly grim expression to the identical other. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked carefully.

The Twins shared a meaningful glance.

"Because…"

"…yesterday while we were –ahem- never mind that…"

"…the point is, we overheard that Croaker guy quarrelling with old Dumbledore…"

…about you."

"About me", repeated Sky in a flat tone that was the only way to hide his sudden bout of terror. Dumbledore was arguing with an Unspeakable because of him? This was not good.

The Twins nodded solemnly. "Dumbledore was forbidding something because 'Harry is far too young', that's what he said, and Croaker was calling him a 'senile old codger who's idiotically wasting precious time'. No clue what that was all about, but…"

"…we reckon you should be on your guard around that bloke", the two concluded uneasily.

Sky could feel his heart beating wildly. What could it mean? What was 'Harry' too young for? Was this about Voldemort? Quite likely. But what, exactly, did the Unspeakable want with 'Harry Potter'? Had this happened the First Time and they just hadn't noticed? Or was this a change they'd wrought through their attempt at neutralizing Snape? What was going on, how would this impact their new future? What should they do?

There were no answers.

The Twins were watching him worriedly, but they didn't say anything and when a bout of loud cheers went off from the target area, all three of them allowed themselves to be distracted by Hannah's unexpected success at shooting moving targets.

* * *

The uneasiness the Twins had generated in Hermione only grew with every churned thought, until it blossomed into controlled panic as Sky stepped into the Great Hall for the Feast.

She so wished that Harry could be there at 'his' side.

She didn't begrudge her friend his stay in the Hospital Wing – she'd cursed her stupidity a lot for delaying even just a month, when she'd realized how much easier that potion made her life – but facing this night of all nights alone…

She knew that, technically, she didn't _need_ Leia's help to handle Quirrel. They had a fool-proof plan and Sky could carry it out on his own easily enough.

But what if she messed up?

What if something happened and she ended up facing… Him? On her own? She couldn't! She… well, she wasn't Harry! She just… she couldn't, not alone!

She could barely stand the tension of the waiting… what if she messed up?

Never had Hermione felt so relieved as when a panting Leia burst into the Great Hall and skidded to a halt near the Gryffindor table, instantly greeted by loud welcomes and caring enquiries about her health.

She slid in the seat next to Sky and grabbed his hand covertly, squeezing hard. In a bare whisper, she renewed the promise she'd made that day in Diagon Alley: "_I will not leave you alone_. I promise, Hermione. I won't."

Relief and gratitude and love washed over Sky ina wonderful wave.

Leia squeezed Sky's hand once more, then relaxed a little. "Ready for tonight's show?"

As one, they turned to watch the High Table, where surprisingly, Quirrel was having a rather one-sided conversation with Snape.

Well, this was an unavoidable feast for teachers: Sky guessed that if he didn't show up at all someone would go investigate. Voldemort wasn't careless like that. He was more likely to excuse himself at some point.

Leia and Sky shared a determined glance and then pretended to enjoy the wonderful decorations and the excited chatter of their friends, most of which centred on the afternoon's Tournament.

Sky noticed that Leia seemed rather put off by the food on display, even the numerous sweets, but then again, Hermione had never eaten much in 'those days' either. At least the girl seemed spirited enough as she listened to Terry recounting his success at the coloured lights game.

For his part, Sky was fascinated by the thousand live bats that fluttered from the walls and ceiling or swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. She'd really missed a mesmerizing show the First Time.

Their eyes slid to Professor Quirrel every few seconds, ready and tense for the moment when he would leave the table, signalling the start of his ill-conceived attempt at gaining the Stone.

But it never happened.

The baked potatoes and pumpkin pies left place for desserts, and still Professor Quirrel was stuttering uselessly in his seat.

Seamus and Ron launched into a ridiculous contest, throwing baked pumpkin seeds into the air and trying to catch them in their mouths, and still Quirrel didn't leave his place at the High Table.

McGonagall performed an awe-inspiring piece of magic, transfiguring every bat in the Hall at the same time into small items – miniature cauldrons, tiny broom models, fluffy plushies – that rained on the cheering children and were instantly the object of heated negotiations and fun bargains, and still Quirrel remained sitting placidly next to Snape.

The evening was full of wondrous things, but distinctly lacked what they had most looked forward.

No stuttering Defence Professor pretending to faint in the middle of the Hall.

No school-wide panic to act as diversion while Quirrel tried the forbidden corridor's defences.

No troll to act as decoy.

For whatever reason… Quirrel had decided not to act tonight.

When the Prefect led the tired and excited students to their dorms, Leia and Sky were forced to admit it: all bets were off.

Who was to know what would happen now?

* * *

The excitement they missed on Halloween, however, was served to them for breakfast the morning after, in the form of a glaringly first page of the _Daily Prophet _shocking the upperclassmen into frightened and frantic whispers: AZKABAN BREAK-OUT!


	12. 12 Seen and Unforseen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

_A/N: Since it has been so long, here's a little synopsis of what happened in earlier chapters: Harry and Hermione tried a time travelling ritual around Christmas of their year on the run, which worked to a point, sending them back to their eleven year old selves; however, Harry found himself in Hermione's body and vice versa. Harry in Hermione's body is now known as Leia, a short haired, energetic muggleborn prodigy, while Hermione in Harry's body is called Sky, a more quiet and scholarly Boy-Who-Lived than anybody expected, with totally unexpected skills in the Mind Arts; they have done their best to adapt to the situation, dealing with various problems - ranging from their magic being difficult to control to dealing with their best friends' families, from meeting people they saw die to facing puberty of the wrong genre… and they are working to further their main goal of defeating Voldemort, along with other goals like neutralizing Snape, getting their generation ready to survive the war, promoting inter-house solidarity, locating the Horcruxes, freeing Sirius… and perhaps doing their homework well too…_

_A/N2: I had a lot of fun with the Baron (and there is an actual reason he's using Middle English this time, which will come into play in later chapters), but in case his words are impossible to decipher, as after all, you don't have tones, gestures and context to help like Leia, you'll find the whole conversation in modern English at the end of the chapter._

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_12. Seen and Unforseen_

It was all everybody seemed to be able to talk about. The infamous Sirius Black, fearsome dark wizard, convicted murderer, had escaped from the most secure prison in the magical world!

The upperclassmen in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, the only ones who made a point to have the newspaper delivered regularly, were hounded by their housemates for all details made public, that were then hastily relayed to younger Housemates and friends across House tables and gradually trickled down the gossip chain to the first years, who were consequently in an uproar.

Everybody had a theory or five and they became more and more outlandish as they retold them, though Leia noticed with a bit of amusement that nobody had yet topped the story Hannah Abbott had claimed the First Time, about Sirius being able to turn into a bush.

The whole group of Harry's friends was reacting with dismay and worry. The Gryffindors shot Sky nervous glances and muttered among each other. One after the other, members of the Sky Club from the other Houses scurried up to the Gryffindor table, reporting what they'd heard and hushedly conferring on the matter.

Sky played his part perfectly, keeping his head down with a grim countenance and toying with his food instead of eating.

Leia sat close to him, for all appearances offering comfort, and kept a keen eye on the students intensely whispering as well as the worried-looking staff gravely discussing the _Prophet._ McGonagall, who had carelessly spread the newspaper open over her scrambled eggs, looked devastated; Leia hoped she didn't blame herself for helping with their little plan.

Towards the end of breakfast, Daphne descended upon them, bringing a fresh copy of the paper for everybody to read first-hand, though she refused to elaborate on how she'd acquired it, despite Ron's needling.

Leia was surprised when Sky took advantage of the situation to propose that the Club got a subscription to _The__ Daily__ Prophet_ of their own.

"Half the stuff the upperclassmen are telling us makes no sense! Wouldn't it be better if we could read the news directly every time? I mean, it's not like we can ignore what's going on, can we?" He looked down sadly. "It- it affects some of us too closely."

"All of us," corrected Susan grimly.

"Sky's right," said Neville quietly. "This kind of news isn't like reading about the Minister's speeches and other boring stuff. This is important."

"Yes, but it won't always be so, will it? I mean, this is something extraordinary," said Lavender, looking worried. "It has to be."

There were general nods of assent.

"But on the other hand," said Terry slowly, "this isn't the first time the news affect us directly. Remember how hard it was to follow the whole Snape business? Even when more people started receiving the paper everyday?"

"Right! Getting Ron's brother to read us his copy of the _Prophet_ is not my idea of fun!" muttered Padma from where she was squeezed next to her sister. Percy's patronizing attitude had admittedly been hard to bear.

"That's why I think we should get a subscription for the Club, all together. We won't always be interested in all of the news, but we can keep an eye on things," replied Sky.

"It's not a bad idea," commented Daphne pensively. She'd somehow claimed the central seat in her tight-knit group and looked rather regal with the newspaper arranged in front of her, propped up a goblet, and everybody hanging from her lips.

"We could take turns," elaborated Kevin. "Each of us could read the paper one day and then tell the others if there's anything of notice. Maybe save the main articles for future reference or something."

Murmurs of agreements followed the proposal.

"I've done some budgeting," said Sky, as usual showing his/her penchant for thinking ahead, "and the subscription for a year costs 5 Galleons and 9 Sickles, so if we split among all of us, it'll only be 4 Sickles each."

"I'm in," said Leia promptly, quickly imitated by many others.

A few were frowning, but Susan interjected with calm determination: "We can think on it and decide later. In the meanwhile, let's hear today's news."

"Here we go, then," said Daphne and started reading aloud: "_Possibly__ the __most__ infamous__ prisoner__ ever__ to __be__ held__ in__ Azkaban__ fortress, __Sirius__ Black __is__ once__ again__ terrorizing__ the __magical__ community, __ten__ years __after__ the __awful__ massacre__ in__ which__ he__ murdered__ thirteen__ people__ with__ a__ single__ curse__…_"

The sensationalizing article contained nothing they didn't already know, but it was still a grim and subdued group that made their way out of the Great Hall, talking softly and trying to reassure each other that the teachers had everything under control.

Padma made a point to remind everyone that Hogwarts was protected by more than just walls and Leia tuned her out as she started quoting _Hogwarts,__ A __History_. Leia herself was just relieved there had been no mentions of Dementors being deployed to Hogwarts, this time.

Near the doors, they realized that a group of Slytherins was gathered right on their path, talking loudly and shooting malicious glances their way – as if they were waiting for them. Or possibly, for Harry, since the topic of the conversation was Sirius Black.

It took Leia a moment to recognize why the group looked odd to her: it was its composition, more familiar in her other life but rather unexpected now. Malfoy was in the centre, holding the stage like he hadn't had a chance to do this time around. Something seemed to have shifted in the internal dynamics of the lower years Slytherin, and it was clear that the blond boy was enjoying his moment immensely.

When he caught sight of Sky, as always in the middle of their group, his thin mouth curved in a mean smile.

"Of course, if it was me," he said loudly, "I would want to do something. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him." He struck a virtuous pose, playing up for his audience.

Leia felt her heart sank. Malfoy must be telling everybody about Black being Harry Potter's godfather… not that it was a secret or anything, but she knew the Snakes would milk it for all it was worth and she worried that she couldn't manage to react to their taunts as appropriate for a Muggleborn who believed him a heinous criminal…

Malfoy preened sickeningly at the attention the other Slytherins were bestowing on him, though his smug look flickered when he realized Sky was supremely ignoring him. Leia fisted her hands viciously to be able to do the same.

Maybe they would have made it safely out and to a place where she could vent, if it wasn't for Ron.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" the red-head said roughly, apparently incapable of leaving the Slytherin to stew in his juice.

Malfoy's delighted smugness returned in full force and he contemptuously ignored Ron, focusing instead on Sky.

"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed. "_My_ father told me the entire truth…"

"I highly doubt that," muttered Leia resentfully.

"…but of course, you don't _have_ a father… I suppose I should feel sorry for you and inform you myself – as an act of pity, you know…"

"Why, you vicious little cockroach!" hissed Parvati while Leia and Sky both stiffened and Malfoy's cohort sniggered.

"I don't need _anything_ from you, Malfoy, much less the twisted and _incomplete_ information you might be able to provide," said Sky with calm dignity which Leia admired. _She_ was holding her wand so tightly it almost hurt with the effort of not drawing it.

Malfoy sneered unpleasantly, irritated that the green-eyed boy wasn't raising to his baiting: "Or maybe you don't care enough?" he taunted, upping the stakes. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck…"

He smirked maliciously and raised his chin even higher, emboldened by the sneering laughs of the Slytherins who surrounded him.

"Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

"Leave him alone, Malfoy," snarled Neville. The Club rearranged to face the confrontation, looking balefully at the Slytherins even if Sky kept his mouth firmly shut and his attention apparently on the floor.

"Hiding behind a near-Squib, Potter? Just how pathetic can you be?" mocked Malfoy.

"You're the one who's pathetic!" spat Parvati, her dark eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Shut it, Parvati!" screeched Parkinson from beside Malfoy. "I can't believe you would say that, it's true what they say, hang around with riff-raffs and you'll turn out as worthless as them!"

"You take that back!" shrieked Padma even as other of the Club muttered angrily against the Slytherins, who in turn serrated their ranks around Malfoy.

Emboldened by this, the blond recklessly raised his voice even louder: "What does it feel like, Potter? Knowing that your own Godfather spent the last ten years in a dreary cell in Azkaban?"

"Right next to your _aunt_, Malfoy!" spat Leia, furious at the blond's daring.

There were gasps all around and the crowd of students pressed closer, avidly watching the confrontation.

Malfoy paled horribly, then his cheeks pinked in embarrassment. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Leia stared incredulously as a cacophony of outraged shouts exploded around her. Several wands appeared seemingly out of nowhere, pointed furiously at the young Slytherin. Shrieks of "How dare you!" and "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" roared from all her friends, but not only. Several other Gryffindors looked ready to assault the stupid boy. Older students just rising from the Hufflepuff table gasped with indignation and started berating him as they came closer.

But it was McGonagall's thundering voice that quieted the hall:

"Malfoy!" she bellowed. "Detention! And twenty points from Slytherin! How dare you — _despicable_ behaviour…" she marched straight towards him, the students parting hastily in front of her fury. She looked beyond livid.

Perhaps realizing that his prized pupil was in real danger this time, Snape sailed smoothly in the confrontation and tried to shoo Malfoy away: "I shall deal with this, Minerva, after all, Mr. Malfoy belongs to my House…"

"You better do, Severus Snape! _You__ better!_ Because if you don't, so help me, I will have that boy shovel Hippogriff dung until the year is over! I reckon it'd do him some good!"

Snape clutched Malfoy's shoulder firmly and did his best to steer him away quickly.

Neville, still panting, rounded on Leia: "Don't listen to him!" he stated with more authority than she'd ever dreamed of hearing from the pudgy boy. "Blood matters none at all!"

"And even if it did, it wouldn't change the fact that you're more brilliant and powerful than that stinking, good-for-nothing son of a Death Eater could ever hope to be," said Hannah, her face going red.

"She's right!" shouted Susan forcefully, swiftly echoed by many of their friends.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy, Hermione!" concluded Neville decisively.

Cheers went up all around, from students of all ages and Houses – even, guardedly, from a few younger Slytherins, who seemed anxious not to be grouped with Malfoy's pals, _now_.

Leia smiled a bit uncertainly, still unable to believe the blond had been so stupid and moved but a little stunned at the show of support.

* * *

November had started with a bang, but it then continued in a somehow settled way.

The teachers were tense and edgy and they kept a close eye on Sky, which, combined with their friends' caring but a bit oppressive fretting, made it difficult for the two time travellers to get away by themselves for more than a few minutes here and there.

That and the added stress of the unfortunately inevitable quantity of craning necks and whispering that followed 'Harry Potter' constantly, subjecting him to many pitying looks, was taking a toll on Sky's nerves. In response, the boy did what Hermione had always done in times of stress and threw himself into research.

"We've let ourselves be derailed from what truly matters by everything that has been going on," he pointed out to Leia. "It's time we go back to focusing on Voldemort and his Horcruxes!"

Leia had agreed, feeling guilty when she realized how little progress they'd made on the 'stopping Voldemort' front; however, partly because he/she'd never been as good as her best friend with research, partly because she didn't have Sky's excuse of being depressed over Black to skirt hanging out with their friends, she found it hard to spend time on the books.

Sky reassured her that it didn't matter: "It's actually better this way. We can't risk making the opposite mistake – concentrating only on research and letting things go out of control… Splitting the tasks is only sensible. Plus, you can keep them all distracted and away from me, which would be a blessing!"

Leia had smiled forcedly. She could relate to Sky's exasperation: she remembered all too well how frustrating it was to being so closely watched and fussed over.

"At least you don't have to deal with Percy tailing you everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog!" she joked bravely, making Sky laugh.

What she didn't admit to her best friend was that it was strange and a little hurtful, seeing everybody concerned on what was, essentially, _Hermione__'__s_ behalf, when it was _his,__ Harry__'__s,_ Godfather the matter…

It brought home like nothing else had yet, that meeting Sirius was going to be every bit as awful for him, as meeting the Grangers must have been for Hermione. After all, his Godfather would have no reason to pay _Leia_ any attention… the only adult who'd ever truly cared about him the most, placed him above all others, whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid… but not this time… not this time. It was going to be harder than facing Ron…

She/he wasn't sure how she could take it. Hermione had been braver than she'd realized, around her parents!

* * *

'Settled life' was a relative terms at the best of times, when it came to Hogwarts.

For instance, Leia's days now included a rather eccentric addition in the form of the Bloody Baron, strange character that he was.

As she had promised, Leia sought him out, half dreading half curious, very soon after Halloween.

Unfortunately, she found him in a bad moment – he snarled at her with a ghastly face so contorted in rage and grief that she instantly decided discretion was the better part of valour and hightailed it out of the tower he was in with celerity.

His howling haunted her for several corridors and she resolved to go back to avoid him like everybody else in the school did: that civil conversation on Halloween must have been a fluke.

Some time later however, he was the one to come seeking her and of course, it was when she least expected it.

She was late for McGonagall's class, having overslept and then been unlucky enough to take a set of stairs that should have brought her to the second floor, but decided that the sixth was better today. The Baron showed up abruptly, almost giving her a heart attack as she literally ran into him – or rather, _through_ him.

The only thing comparable to walking through a ghost was, in Leia's opinion, a sudden icy shower: she was understandably out of it, then, as the translucent form covered in silvery blood talked to her in a chastising tone.

"In ernest ik asxe, whence thou doost ay flee, Mayd Granger? An ynorissed mayden ylyk thee!"

He tut-tutted disapprovingly.

Leia worked through the confusing sentence, a bewildered frown on her face. _I__ ask__… __flee__… __maiden__ like __thee__…_

"Are you… scolding me because I run in the corridors?" she asked eventually in total disbelief.

"Yis, Mayd Granger. Hit is a wone which aperteneth not thy worthynesse and ik moot amonest thee!"

She just stared at him, mouth hanging open. _Worthiness,__ right__… __and__ he__ must__ '__admonish__' __me?_

He couldn't be serious!

"Ynogh of swich," he went on, elegantly shrugging. "Comest now! Let us walk yfere. Ik ycleped thee in penaunce. Ik wolde not fare so in contrast to bachilrie, when thou seched me over ik am wont to be yhid. Ik was wroth and thou woost, wrecchednesse makes men wraw. When ik aslaked, ik was aldermost repentant."

Leia scrambled to make sense of the unfamiliar words and odd sentence structure and when she managed to figure out that His Bloodiness was _apologizing_ to her, she was floored.

It took her all her wits just to stammer out: "Oh! Ah! Okay, I mean, of course! Ah… a-apology accepted, Baron…"

Then, unable to stifle her curiosity, she blurted out: "Why were you angry, though? I thought perhaps I was bothering you? That you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore…"

The ghost looked dismayed: "Nay, fair Mayden. That wlatsom ik moot wyte - to stelen my fetters, he attempted!" He jingled his ghostly chains threateningly and it was eerily how they made no sound. "Als cleere he wolded to tobreste hem as tormentrie for me…"

The tall spectre was getting angry again and Leia cast about for a way to bring the conversation back to safer grounds, but he visibly calmed and to her shock, actually explained: "For longer yeer than thou kanst, ik born these fettres." He dangled them again. "They mark me as yshryve: whennes I was most apaye at his yvel actions."

Suddenly he looked very pleased with himself: "My wreche was grisly and he was ypunysshed afore my wrath was appeased!"

Leia was so busy, first mentally translating what he was saying and then wondering why would the Baron willingly wear chains for long centuries and what exactly they might represent to be so important to him, that she barely noticed they'd reached the door of McGonagall's class.

The ghost stopped her gently: "Alday ik gye my lyf ydelly and a feere ylyk thee is a yifte ik am looth to lese. If thou assente, ik wae levere yelde thee with wityng and tales, if swich a wynnyng is digne in thyn yen."

Leia grasped 'my life is idle', 'if you consent', 'tales' and 'winning in your eyes' and put together the proposition. She smiled. _What __an __utterly__ Slytherin__ approach_, she thought.

She curtseyed to the elegant spectre and told him kindly: "It will be my pleasure, Baron."

He offered her a creepy but pleased smile: "Ik graunt thee mercy."

She looked at him oddly, then she realized what he meant and hurriedly replied: "Oh! Oh… you're welcome!" Then she added, a little petulantly: "Must you speak like this? It's a pain to understand!"

The ghost didn't answer, but merely raised an eyebrow in a show of amusement. Leia thought she caught a glimpse of mischief in his eyes. She narrowed her own in suspicion, but he floated through a nearby wall before she could confront him.

Damn Slytherins! Insubstantial or not, they were all alike!

* * *

As the month progressed, the weather turned colder. Already the lake had acquired the icy grey that was its typical winter colour and frost was a common occurrence on the ground in the mornings. Leia started expecting the first snow, but the sky remained as clear as a moonstone opaline.

On one of their bi-weekly visits to Hagrid, she and Sky found the half-giant trying to repair the rabbit fur lining of his gloves. "Tis the best fer keepin' warm," he explained to them smiling, "but the woolly bears keep munchin' on it. 'Course I can't use the Potions to keep 'em away, they're needin' 'em fer weather divination classes…"

However, much like it had the First Time, this time of the year meant mostly one thing to Harry: the traditional Gryffindor versus Slytherin opening match of the Quidditch season was upon them.

She'd found out that, even if the huge amount of last-minute Quidditch practice Oliver Wood was making them do hadn't changed, training as 'one of the gals' was rather different than when he'd been 'Harry Potter': at once better and worse.

Angelina, Alicia and Katie took a lot more notice of her than they had the First Time, making a point to include her in their chatting while they were getting changed in or out of practice gear. They talked about stuff that had little to do with Quidditch, too, as well as giving her advice on how to balance her homework and spare time with Oliver's crazy taskmaster tendencies.

They were also a lot more keen on involving her in the team dynamics, in and out the field. Seekers were always, by the very nature of their role, lone players in a team sport, but the three determined Chasers talked Oliver into trying manoeuvres that featured her taking a more active role in the scoring process, rather than just leaving her to Seeking. She found this awesome, both because it was a lot of fun and for the sense of belonging she got from it. Their Captain wasn't very happy about it, though, and insisted her first and only concern should be the Snitch.

At the same time, however, there were downsides to the situation. The main one being, Angelina, Alicia and Katie did a lot more gossiping and _giggling_ than he'd ever noticed when he was a boy!

The general free-for-all speculation about who had a crush on whom and who was dating whom this week that was part and parcel of the locker room chatting, was rather bewildering to him/her. As was the idea that, apparently, Katie thought Anthony Rickett, the new Hufflepuff Beater (whom Leia barely remembered and had never found remarkable), was 'so totally cute'.

And even if, when interrogated about who _she_ liked, she'd blushed and stammered something unintelligible and hoped they would let it rest, Alicia turned out to be a much worse gossipmonger than he'd ever suspected and ferreted out from Lavender easily that she 'liked' Cedric, which led to a lot of giggling praise for her 'good taste' in choosing someone so 'tall and handsome' and a lot of teasing about her liking the 'strong and silent' type.

It made after-practice in the locker rooms a pain and regularly left her grumbling to herself, or to a very unsympathetic Sky.

For better or for worse anyway, the second Saturday of November finally arrived and the majority of the school found itself around the Quidditch pitch, ready to enjoy the match.

Leia discreetly counted the teachers present: a lot of them had come to watch, surprisingly. Or maybe not, as they seemed more concerned with their surroundings than the pitch and Prof. Kettleburn had taken up position in the Gryffindor tribune, much to the students' surprise – to keep an eye on Harry Potter, Leia guessed correctly, in case Black made an appearance.

Not a wrong expectation, seeing as Sirius had, indeed, come to a Quidditch match in their first life…

Praying that her godfather wouldn't be so foolish this time (after all, he should have less incentive, with 'Harry' not on the team and no storm to hide him… besides, she reasoned trying to reassure herself, he might not be arrived in the area yet…) she smiled widely at the stand the Club had taken over, proudly displaying an enormous banner over all their heads. They'd all contributed in creating and charming it. It read 'Make Us Dream, Leia!' and the letters were continuously changing in size and flashing from red to gold and back.

She could guess there was going to be a lot of bewildered mutterings about the whole Club (including some recent additions like Ernie of Hufflepuff and Su and Stephen of Ravenclaw) sitting together, regardless of House differences. Even Daphne was with them: she sported the Slytherin colours, however, and stood out like an elegant, embedded jewel in the sea of red and gold everybody else had chosen to support Leia.

She took a deep breath in the fresh air, feeling excitement stir deliciously in her belly. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle… and they were off!

In an instant, she was plunged into the frantic pace of a Quidditch match. Oh, how she'd missed the thrill!

Lee Jordan's comment flew through the air alongside the players: "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Adrian Pucey of Slytherin, on the team for the third year in a row…"

The Twins however didn't waste a second in hogging the Bludgers and targeting him with unerring aim. Pucey dropped the Quaffle he'd just snatched from the air, letting Alicia grab it and pass it on to her fellow Chasers in one smooth movement.

Leia heard the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, yell an insult to his Chaser while she soared.

"…a neat pass to Katie Bell, a good find of Oliver Wood's — back to Spinnet and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle…"

Lee's commentary drifted to her and she made a split-second decision. She remembered Oliver's advice ("_Keep__ out __of __the__ way__ until__ you __catch__ sight__ of __the __Snitch ,__we__ don't__ want__ you__ attacked__ before__ you __have __to__ be__"_) but why not lend a hand to her team-mates when she got the chance? They had practiced running interference after all…

Grinning she swerved abruptly to the left, cutting the path of Flint, who was speeding up to receive the Quaffle from Pucey, with perfect timing. With a curse, the tall Slytherin was forced to pull up sharply to avoid her and the precious instants he lost were enough for Angelina to slip through the Slytherin defence, steal the Quaffle sailing through the air and speed away towards the goals like a red blur.

A loud cheer went up and Leia felt her heart soar with the joy of the game. She grinned even wider.

"…Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor takes advantage of Seeker Granger's brilliant reflexes — let's hear it for our newest star, Gryffindors, she's shaping up to become as good as her beautiful team-mate – and we sure hope she'll grow up half as cute as Angelina too…"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall's voice was utterly scandalized.

"Sorry, Professor…"

Leia burst out laughing – oh, she'd missed Lee's commentaries!

"And Johnson's really belting along up there, she's making the most of this chance – she's going to sc— no! Unfortunately stopped by the new Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley — and the Slytherins take the Quaffle — that's Chaser Graham Montague of Slytherin there, and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger fantastically directed by Fred or George Weasley — couldn't say which one…"

Flint stole the Quaffle again and threw it to Montague, who shot up the pitch, agilely avoiding Bludgers and players alike. The Slytherins in the stands started stamping their feet frenetically in a show of support for their momentarily unstoppable Chaser.

Leia caught sight of a golden gleam and turned to check…

Montague threw the Quaffle violently and all eyes in the crowd trailed the red blur, collectively holding their breath.

There it was… quivering in a little bubble of quiet in the midst of the total chaos of the match… the Snitch!

Wood lunged towards the right ring, both arms extended to stop the Quaffle…

With little, graceful movements Leia glided up to the small golden ball…

Wood almost lost his balance, managing to remain on his broom by the skin of his teeth, but caught Montague's throw – the Gryffindor stands exploded into cheers for their Keeper…

Leia's fingers closed gently around the Snitch, in the least frantic capture of her/his entire career…

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" shouted Lee Jordan from his tribune. "I can't believe it, she's caught it, Granger has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins! 150 – 0, amazing folks, Seeker Granger catches the Snitch after only 4 minutes and 37 seconds! And… let me check… yes! It's a record! Fastest catch on Hogwarts grounds, beating the previous record by 22 seconds!"

The uproar of yelled cheering from the Club was thundering at this words and Leia flew up to them with an ear-splitting grin.

* * *

The following weeks were a blur of activities.

Quidditch and classes had been enough to fill her life the First Time: now, she didn't even try to comprehend how she managed, day after day, to find time for so much more.

Flitwick boasted about the Club's Charms Games to whoever would listen and was happily helping them to organize another Tournament, with more complex competitions, for just before the end of term.

As a consequence, they were all keenly practicing, once a week all together and in small groups at other times, whenever they had time.

Leia found that she was a highly sought-after 'tutor', especially now that – with the exception of Transfiguration – she had gained control over her wanded casting and her years of unfair advantage over her age-mates were finally showing. She guessed it was her experience in teaching the DA that made her so good at helping others learn.

She started sneakily bringing a book or two about Defence to the 'practice meetings', with the aim of countering Quirrelmort's awful teaching as best as she managed. Surprisingly, a lot of her friends were enthusiastic about learning curses and counter curses and eagerly followed her instructions and directions, even if it meant an added workload.

Flitwick praised her more than once and offered to guide her 'preparatory studies', which he was convinced she was doing on her own time, by helping her select appropriate books and explain whatever she might have difficulties with.

She seized the chance, naturally. The tiny Professor had been a champion dueller in his time, after all!

And that the 'sport' had remained in his heart was proved when he got everybody excited by agreeing to start teaching them how to duel after the holidays, if they promised to keep up their grades and never skirt their schoolwork.

Flitwick's tutoring was an amazing chance and she was determined to make the most of it, however it meant one more afternoon occupied, which, considering the renewed enthusiasm with which Wood, over the moon at their victory, was insisting on frequent Quidditch practices, was becoming a precious commodity.

On top of all that, Supervisor Norland had added one hour a week of what she declared 'an unparalleled opportunity to familiarize yourselves with the common and less common Potions ingredients' (only adding under her breath 'unparalleled since your Professor is an idiot who couldn't teach a baby to swallow his mother's milk').

Basically, she would set out ingredients for them to prepare in various ways and supervise them as they learned to cut and dice, chop and mesh, drain and fillet and whatnot.

And if some of the ingredients they were taught to handle were positively disgusting - cutting up Flobberworms and skinning Shrivelfigs came to mind immediately - well… Harry had too much experience with them from his previous life's detentions with Snape to be squeamish.

Besides, there were some jobs that were utterly amazing.

The day Supervisor Norland gave them a bowl of dragon scales, ranging in size from smaller than her least fingernail to almost as large as her palm, was her favourite to date.

They were asked to polish them with a soft cloth and separate them in even portions, each having three or more colours represented, which was an easy, pleasant job. The scales themselves were beautiful, shimmering in an array of colours broader than any rainbow, making even the dim and dreary dungeons shine. Every time she held one up to inspect it, sparkles of bright light arched off the dungeon walls and cascaded down the sides, like a multi-faceted waterfall.

Even Lavender, who loathed most of everything to do with 'horrible messy stuff' and often had to be dragged to the dungeons for Potion class, declared it a job she 'wouldn't mind doing again'.

* * *

With weekends devoted to keeping up with her regular homework and being roped into 'having fun' with her friends, Leia felt she didn't have a moment for herself anymore – and barely managed to keep abreast of Sky's progress with his research…

Her life was hectic!

About the only time of calm and quiet were Croaker's meditation lessons, which she technically shouldn't even attend.

The opening of the 'new classes' to 'selected students from the lower years' was a blatant attempt at not singling Sky out too much and was in the end reduced to asking two third years, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw who might or might not have shown promise in the field, to join one of the two classes the man was organizing – one including almost all the newt-level students and one with a dozen or so eager fourth and fifth years.

Sky on the other hand, was informed that he would receive 'private lessons' in Professor Croaker's room one evening a week.

The two time travellers debated worriedly over the issue: they were hesitant to allow Sky to be alone with the Unspeakable, because of the warning the Twins had passed on, but how to avoid it?

Leia was all for showing up bodyguard-like at Sky's side, but the boy doubted she would be allowed to stay.

A group of their friends came up to them while they were debating the problem, cheerfully asking: "Why the long faces?"

When Dean heard the matter, he went grey: "Let me get this straight… A Professor wants you in his rooms? Alone? At night?"

He looked scared and it puzzled Leia and most of the others. Sky however seemed to get the point instantly and jumped to his feet: "I'm going to McGonagall!"

Leaving everything into their Professor's hands for once, they'd waited tensely until the Weasley Twins had bounded in to congratulate Sky on having managed to "…make the new guy and our esteemed Headmaster yell at each other. Again, we might add."

They finally breathed a sigh of relief when the stern woman confirmed that Croaker would not be allowed to give private lessons, to him or anyone else, and instead, Sky was to be included in the smaller of the 'official' classes.

Sky reported later that the Unspeakable had appeared unhappy and utterly bored as he started them out with simple basic visualization exercises. The green-eyed boy, on the other hand, was overjoyed that the practice seemed to be helping with his problems in Transfiguration too. Finally, he was able to actually get a somewhat recognizable result reliably! McGonagall was still puzzled by his difficulties, but was very pleased that whatever was blocking him, seemed to be disappearing at last.

Since what the Unspeakable was teaching was neither overtly complicated nor particularly hard, Sky wasted no time in relaying everything he'd learned to the Sky Club.

He commandeered an area of the Club's classroom and took over the second half of their weekly general meeting to pass the knowledge on to his friends, doing his best to recreate the atmosphere of the lesson and leading everybody in the same sequence of exercises the Unspeakable had proposed. Daphne helped out immensely by interspersing the practice with advice from her family grimoires.

There were protests – Ron, Seamus and Justin were most vocal about what a boring thing it all was – but Daphne, who must have been really traumatized by her previous experiences with the Mind Arts (she was still giving Snape a wide berth and gimlet eye) cut them to shreds with icy sarcasm. Susan and Neville, wholeheartedly agreeing with her on the necessity of the practice, piled it on with horror story upon awful anecdote upon terror-inducing tale, until nobody dared not to put in their best effort.

Leia was pleased: it would help them incalculably later on. Croaker, however, was anything but; Flitwick must have reported the Club's doings because it hadn't taken long for the man to show up, frowning and looking disapprovingly unhappy.

However, when he'd tried to point out that the Mind Arts were a dangerous field of magic and highly restricted, and was it a good idea to teach children who didn't seem gifted for it, he'd simply been regarded blandly.

There was a storm of discussions among the staff, as they debated forcing them to stop or leaving them to it. Croaker, however, was a smart man, and faced with the children's stubbornness, he'd sighed and organized a third class, despite the various protests and concerns risen by the rest of the staff.

"Better they have some supervision, if they're going to do it anyway," he'd shouted over Dumbledore's protests. "Can you imagine, letting idiotic kids experiment with Mind Arts on their own? What if they mess up! This isn't as easy to fix as accidentally transfiguring their feet into hooves or turning their skin the colour of bubotuber pus! Do you want to risk ending up with brain-dead drooling idiots?"

And so it was that all the first years - even those who weren't in the Sky Club, after word had got to their parents and they'd received strict instructions to show up and _make__ an __effort_ - ended up spending their Sunday afternoons comfortably arranged on big, transfigured cushions, breathing in unusual, oddly rhythmic patterns, in perfect silence, or at least as perfect as a bunch of eleven years old could manage, Croaker's hypnotic voice guiding their efforts and the reassuring presence of a Head of House supervising in a corner…

To Leia, even if she wasn't making much progress with her meditation, the lessons with the Unspeakable were an oasis of quiet in the exciting chaos of her life. Not tranquillity, though: everybody was tense around that wizard, most of all Sky and her.

Thankfully, it was just a lot of breathing with their eyes closed for now, but Leia still dreaded when they would start on the Mind Arts themselves. Still, it was an amazing opportunity and not one any of them was going to miss, no matter how ill at ease it made her and Sky.

And better Croaker than Snape, that was for sure!

* * *

Her victory on the Quidditch pitch remained a matter of rumour for longer than she'd expected; far longer than it had the First Time. Evidently, Harry Potter being a talented Seeker wasn't as shocking and interesting as a muggleborn nobody being so good at flying…

Hermione's parents, too, were shocked – positively, though. David's congratulation letter was bursting with pride and he hinted to a surprise for the upcoming Christmas holidays.

Which aside for setting Leia's curiosity aflame, shocked her to the core.

She'd never even considered that 'Hermione' would go home for Christmas! It was such a rooted idea to stay at the castle… but of course, Hermione would want to see her parents… and just like that, she knew that she _had_ to have 'Harry' over for Christmas.

Determinedly, she set out to write to the Grangers and convince them, no matter the cost.

It wasn't as easy as she would have liked.

Despite the unquestionable comfort they drove from Julia and David's letters, the downside was that the Grangers knew everything about the 'Black business', this time, and predictably, they were scared. Their growing acquaintance with Lavender's family and Mrs Figg, too, contributed to paint a dreary picture of 'Harry's' situation.

They even went so far as to question the reasonability of her staying friends with him…

_Preposterous,_ was the only thing she could think on the matter – and made sure to state in no uncertain terms that while she understood their worry, and while she loved them very much (something that was slowly starting to become somewhat true for her/him too, as well as being factual for the 'real' Hermione), they'd better drop any idea of her abandoning her best friend – now or ever – because it would be more likely for her to abandon _them_. She/he knew it was true, too, because that was what Hermione had done the First Time: she'd chosen him over them.

She was careful not to let Sky read that particular part of their correspondence. She didn't want her best friend hurt.

She tried to turn their attention to other matters instead: like finding out whether it would be possible to buy wards to be installed around their house. An idea she got by chatting with Su and Padma and which turned out to be, indeed, possible, though it was expensive. Leia was all for it anyway – if necessary, she was more than determined to get them to use the Potter money for it.

* * *

Many others aside from her family were still congratulating her on her 'record-breaking talent'.

Youngest Seeker in a century… fastest in even longer… it wasn't uncommon to hear someone jokingly ask her: "What'll be the next record you go after, Granger?"

After a while, it became irritating and she was sorely tempted to answer "Weirdest capture of the Snitch ever – I plan to swallow it." She held her tongue, though. Besides, nobody but Sky would have got the joke.

What was most disconcerting, although she couldn't have said why it troubled her so, was that her success on the pitch earned her _yet__ another _nickname: now the whole Quidditch team called her 'Ace'.

Thankfully the Sky Club stuck to 'Leia', or the girly 'Herm', but she'd heard several upperclassmen refer to her as 'Ace' as of late.

She didn't know how to feel about it, but for some reason… it made her uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, Sky wasn't there to help her sort herself out. The green-eyed boy was plunging deeper and deeper into research and since he was actually making some progress, Leia was loath to distract him. For what, anyway? Silly emotional upheavals that made no sense whatsoever? For all she knew, it might just be another aspect of The Problem… girls were supposed to be overemotional because of It, after all, right?

It made him/her feel rather alone, though, not being able to confide in anyone fully. Alone, and thrown back to the brooding mood of his fifth year… which was twice as hard as then, because she still had to keep up pretences with friends and assorted Professors, being lively and energetic and always busy, lest someone started worrying and trying to pry from her and Sky answers they weren't ready to give.

The stress was starting to get to her.

He/she found her/himself worrying that there was no longer a way to know just who he/she truly was. She tried not to think on it too much and managed to suppress her silly fears most of the time, only ending up tossing and turning in bed a few times, tortured by a concern that she knew was irrational, but precisely for this reason, couldn't be helped.

Until one early morning, being particularly sleepy, she distractedly replied to the wrong name.

It was nothing much. It wasn't that strange, could have happened to everybody. _Did_ happen to everybody at one point or another… No-one even paid it any notice.

But she/he felt a sudden panic bloom in her stomach.

All of a sudden, every agonizing worry she/he'd ever had and ignored about his/her identity since the Switch crashed down on him/her and it felt as if she/he would never again be able to use the word 'I' and know what he/she meant.

Realizing her breath was coming in aching gasps and that she needed to compose herself, she very deliberately clamped down on her panic tightly and made her way to the bathroom, where she locked the door determinedly and moved slowly to stand in front of the mirror.

She observed herself very carefully: the brown hair, still bushy even if short, the deep brown eyes he was so familiar with, the very large front teeth that she hadn't got around to fix like Hermione had the First Time.

Then she leaned in, scrutinizing intensely into the reflection of her eyes, trying with all her might to see past their chocolate exterior to what was behind, beyond.

_Who__ am __I?_ she/he wondered.

She was Hermione Jean Granger, by virtue of looking like her, being accepted as her, having to live her life.

But he was Harry James Potter, too, still, he would always be; or at least so he hoped, for that was who he really was… he had to be! Though uneasiness was creeping in his/her thoughts… because who was Harry James Potter, after all?

Certainly not the public figure portrayed in the newspapers and publications. She no longer was the Boy-Who-Lived – good riddance to the silly title and all that went with it.

There was no denying, though, that she still felt burdened with the task of facing Voldemort; if for no other reason, because hell would freeze over before she forced his best friend to shoulder the task.

Neither was he the unwanted freak the Dursleys didn't know how to justify to the rest of their perfectly banal world; that part of his identity, too, he was glad to have shed.

_But who is Harry James Potter, then?_

Not the celebrity, not the freak; not the arrogant toerag Snape had insisted he had to be, nor the brooding teenager most had seen him as, and not even simply the Gryffindor student, good at Quidditch and not bad at Defence Against the Dark Arts, that many might have described him as.

_Or am I? Do any of those depictions truly fit me? At least a little? _

_Who am I? _

She bit her lip hard, worried.

_I__'__m __Hermione__'__s__ and__ Ron__'__s__ best__ friend_, he/she thought firmly, but unlike in his previous life, the thought now was hollow, because the tight trio that had defined him so much was no more.

She was Leia… but again, who was Leia? An original character she was building, carefully constructing, shaping for the purpose of adapting to the Switch and working towards her/his goals.

She liked Leia… she liked _being_ Leia… a great deal, to be honest.

_But how 'real' is Leia?_

She was 'Herm' too, and that was a novel experience. She'd never had his name shortened by friends before (unless one wanted to count the Twins' 'Harrikins', but that was different). Not much point with 'Harry', she/he supposed.

It felt strange to hear Lavender and Parvati use the shortened form of her name, with the way its only vowel was naturally lengthened until it almost sounded like a different name entirely: someone else, someone new that he was, rather unwillingly, learning to act as… Parvati was trying to coerce her into using make-up, for pity's sake!

And now she was 'Ace' too… but was it right? Hermione wasn't – wouldn't want to be – a Quidditch star, so did he have the right to be Ace? And the nickname had been granted to her because she was apparently a 'prodigy' – bus she wasn't, was she? Was it cheating?

_Or is it just another mask I have to wear, another role to play? Another character to interpret…_

Her emotions grew more and more turbulent as her upset grew. She wished she could talk this all over with someone, someone she could trust, someone who could help, because the more she tried to make sense of the mess she was in, the more she got confused.

_Who is the real me? Who am I when it comes right down to it?_

That was the question, the question she had no answer for.

_Who am I?_

Jumbled doubts overlapping each other plied her, chased her, like hungry wolves hot on her heels, and she had _no__ answers_.

Who was she?

The build up grew like a suffocating pressure, until with a sharp cry her turmoil spilled over in a burst of accidental magic. The mirror she was looking for answers into shattered explosively and she just about had the presence of mind to shield her eyes with her arm, before her loss of control resulted in a serious injury.

She found herself on her knees, panting, in the middle of a rather wracked bathroom, her emotions all over the place. She was surprised at the amount of damage her magic had wrought.

Someone was pounding frantically at the door, frightened voices demanding to know if she was alright.

All around her, scattered pieces of the mirror blinked at her in the flickering light, each returning a miniature, fragmented version of her image.

And for a wild moment, he thought he saw many different people looking back at him, one from each shard, all mockingly echoing the damn question.

_Who are you?_

* * *

Sky was caught by surprise when he awoke one morning to a blanket of candid snow over the Hogwarts grounds and a buzz of Christmas in the air.

The lake was like a silvery mirror from up in the Tower, the wind was sharp and slipped under their robes like a knife, and everybody was happily discussing their plans for the holidays.

Term was drawing to a close and he'd barely noticed!

Professor Flitwick was roping the Club into charming the baubles for the Trees in the Great Hall so that they would play short Christmas tunes and they were having great fun with it. The cheerful Professor had promised that they could bring one home to their families, so everybody was putting a special effort in.

Following an illuminating conversation with Justin and Kevin, who'd been positively shocked at the sight of real fairies being used as Christmas lights, Hannah was getting the 'magical raised' of the Club to organize a party so that the 'muggle raised' could experience a wizarding Christmas in all its glory before going home.

Despite being curious and excited at the idea, Sky'd overheard the Twins volunteer to help and had spared a relieved thought about not being the Prefect that would have to rein them in. Especially since as of late, the two red-heads were going through a phase of hyper activism that translated in an onslaught of pranks!

_Nobody_ was safe: everyone had found their hair flashing weird colours at the very least – though the pranks on the Slytherins tended to be way more creative – and so far, Snape seemed to be the only Professor who hadn't been targeted – or maybe he was the only one who hadn't been caught.

The two menaces had even managed to spell the sets of armours to shout 'Make way for His Headship!' whenever Dumbledore passed by them…

And Sky and Leia's breath had caught, leaving them half-way through horrified terror and hysterical laughter, when they'd seen the Twins bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

Bouncing off _Voldemort_, that is.

_Merlin protect us all…_

* * *

The Christmas cheer did very little, unfortunately, to fend off the biting cold. The first years had a hard time navigating the icy corridors; they had to bundle up in cloaks and wool scarves simply to go to class, or else hound an older student or two to get them to cast some warming charms. Parvati and Padma, in particular, were forever complaining and spent quite some time trying to find a version of the charm that wasn't too difficult for their current level.

Sky wondered what it said about him that he found the bitter wind howling among the stone walls and rattling the windows of the castle comforting more than anything.

He supposed it was the knowledge that once back in the Gryffindor common room there would be a roaring fire welcoming him – as opposed to a lonely, drafty tent, with too little to eat and too much to worry about.

That didn't mean he enjoyed classes in the dungeons, however, where even keeping as close as possible to their hot cauldrons didn't help staving off the freezing cold and they welcomed the use of acids among the ingredients of the day, because it meant an excuse to keep the dragon hide gloves on.

Though whenever Seamus and Ron started bemoaning the necessity of 'freezing our arses off in the greasy bat's dungeon', her/his scholarly soul reared its head and he bitingly reminded them that they were lucky to have Potions classes at all, considering the rocky start of year.

Thankfully, Supervisor Norland and Professor Snape seemed to have reached a begrudging truce of sorts, at last. Norland coughed warningly or outright snarled every time Snape started insulting or belittling them – which meant Snape kept to a silent scowl amazingly often – but she didn't interfere in the actual lesson, or in Snape's handling of the course material, except for her initiative about teaching them to handle all sorts of ingredients, which Sky found brilliant.

* * *

In contrast to Leia, who was being quite the social butterfly, Sky kept to more quiet pursuits and dedicated most of his time to research.

Luckily Sirius' escape gave him the perfect excuse to withdraw into himself a little. The sombre expressions on the teachers' faces and the blatant way in which they found excuses to walk along corridors with him, making the idea of a dangerous Dark Wizard out for his blood much more concrete and close, was generally agreed to be reason enough to want to study beyond the standard curriculum.

In truth, however, it had been Malfoy's ill-conceived insult, thrown so casually at Leia at the beginning of November, that had convinced him it was time to hit the books. The blond Slytherin's attitude had thrown him/her right back to the climate of the war and reminded her/him of what had to be their priority.

He had therefore made an effort to organize the huge amount of research they absolutely had to do. He couldn't believe he'd let it be so long!

He had encouraged Leia to leave the book-leafing to him, however. It was important that they keep up the good work with the Club, lest they loose what they'd been so lucky as to build, and Leia was better suited to it than him.

Besides, he wasn't a naïve eleven-years-old any longer and he knew, now, not to hope for much dedication to studies during the Quidditch season. Especially if the upcoming match was against Slytherin!

He didn't mind the work, anyway. Spending time in the Hogwarts Library was a luxury he/she had sorely missed while on the run.

On the Horcrux front, he made little progress, but that was not really unexpected. He suspected the books he needed were quite beyond the reach of a first year and he couldn't very well go and ask Dumbledore for his copy of _Secrets__ of__ the __Darkest__ Arts_, could he?

More frustrating was the fact that there was apparently nothing to be found on the Switch, or even anything similar, be it body-switches, gender-bending mishaps or simply botched up Rituals.

He did, however, find out some promising threads about the condition of their magic and promptly shared his findings with his best friend.

"Here, let me show you what I've found in those books Flitwick let me borrow at the beginning of the year!" he told Leia excitedly. "It confirms what he was hinting at in that first lesson – that magic is related uniquely to the body and soul of whoever uses it…"

He leafed quickly through the pages, all the while talking about his own suspicions of magic perhaps not having a genetical basis, but on the other hand, the documented existence of 'family gifts' or 'family affinities' seemingly supporting just such a basis…

"There are quite a lot of authors who claim magic has everything to do with blood – citing all sorts of evidence – but then again, it might just be that the supporters of Pureblood Supremacy twist the interpretation of factual results to fit their view of the world."

"Wouldn't put it past them," mumbled Leia, scowling.

"But we know that there are forms of magic, especially Old Magic, that rely heavily on blood connections and the like," pointed out Sky.

Leia nodded, possibly thinking of Lily Potter's sacrifice, but then added: "Dumbledore, though, seemed to think it had more to do with – err… with love," she blushed. "An emotional connection. Not just blood in the physical sense."

Sky nodded. "Alright. That doesn't explain why Voldemort taking your blood was so important… but alright. However, we can't discount what we ourselves have observed since the Switch."

Leia frowned: "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, like the fact that my magic – or maybe I should say your magic, but I'm not sure which is it – seems to be… _more_. A lot more. But at the same time, it just doesn't do what it's supposed to! It goes off on its own and, and it _explodes_ my transfigurations! Or, or it flings something I'm trying to levitate with such force it _embeds_ in the ceiling! Unless, of course, what I'm trying to do is so complex or requires so much power that I shouldn't be able to do it at all…"

Leia grinned: "It's probably bored. You want it to do everything so meticulously… it's frustrated, that's all!"

Sky glared, annoyed: "Leia, we're not talking about a pet!"

But the girl went on disregarding her comment: "Whereas when you try something _difficult_, well, it's a challenge. Interesting. Motivating! Of course, it's more inclined to do it!"

Sky rolled his eyes, muttering about the silliness of anthropomorphizing the unknown.

"So is this why everything, even the smallest things, require twice the effort they used to?" asked Leia. "I have to concentrate utterly and focus all of my energy in making sure the result isn't botched up by some stray thought… it's because the magic I have now shares your thorough, meticulous nature and wants everything triple checked before doing it?"

"It's not sent- oh, whatever..." Sky rolled his eyes at his grinning friend. "I don't know why you're complaining, anyway. Yes, yes, you have far less magic than you were used too – you told me it was unsettling you badly – but it is always at your fingertips and it can do _anything__ at __all_ and you don't have to worry about accidentally flooding the greenhouses if you try to water some plants…!"

"It's hard! And tiring! And kind of boring, too. Anyway, we're getting rather off topic, aren't we?"

"No, not at all," Sky shook his head. "On the contrary, I think this is precisely the core of the matter. Here…"

He lifted and moved books and parchments, switching their places randomly, trying to find where he'd put what he was looking for.

"Ah-ha! Here it is. This is a volume on the basics of spell creation… I'd glanced through it for an Arithmancy project in sixth year but I didn't have the time to properly study the introductory chapters then. Now I have. Listen!"

He read to his attentive friend: "_Magic __is__ Wild, __Lively, __Unruly.__ It __doth __not __care __for __strict __forms. __Pre-constructed__ thought __doth __not __benefit __new__ spell__work. __Flimsiness __can __be __deflected__ by __giving__ the __incantation __a __sturdier __base, __for __which __aim __Numerology __means __simplicity. __Beware__ however __of__ the __potential __loss __of __Grammar. __Complexity __doth __not __translate __into __efficacy.__"_

"What does it mean, exactly?" asked Leia, trying to concentrate.

"That the spells we use today are cut down to their very basic forms. Apparently some centuries back spells were much longer and much more complicated than they are now – here, look – _Brief__ History __of __Spellcasting __in __the __Anglosaxon__ Area _says that a common levitation charm was some eleven words long originally!"

"Eleven…? But why? I don't understand!"

"Well, because people thought they should make sure to add in everything that might come into play, making the spell very detailed and comprehensive so nothing could go wrong…"

"Really?" Leia asked with surprise.

Sky nodded: "While today, we have spells that are more general and therefore more flexible. So the same incantation works to levitate a feather and a club."

They shared a smile. Leia looked intrigued and Sky felt very much the same. They hadn't really studied spell history that much: this was all new to him too.

"But the spells we use are still pretty standardized," objected Leia after a while. "We always get the same results. Ok, we can use them on a variety of targets… but feather and club, in the end, get levitated in exactly the same way. Why is that, then?"

"Because magic isn't just foolish wand-waving, after all," giggled Sky. "According to what Professor Flitwick told us, it needs another component, one that is linked to – well, personality, if I get this right," he waved haphazardly over the stack of books he'd piled to the side.

"Emotional component," Leia nodded, finally understanding. "Is that what's giving us troubles, then?"

Sky hesitated: "Yes and no. That is, yes, emotions are a huge part of spellcasting, and if this," he held up a volume titled _Moody__ Spells__ for__ Moody__ People_, "is right, then it matters more for some people than for others."

"Like me, the old me I mean, as opposed to the old you," nodded Leia. "That's why you're having so much trouble controlling the magic you have now... while I just need to be more patient and precise."

"But that's just it! It shouldn't work like that, not according to all the books. And anyway, there's more to it than that. Imagination and belief are very important in spell work, more than I ever thought, I'm starting to suspect." He frowned. "If I got this right, the spells we do, work the way they do because we _believe_ that they will."

"Magic is will," nodded Leia sagely.

"Exactly. And that belief is imprinted into our minds, mainly, here at school, where the teachers show us how this or that spell works. We automatically believe that it will work that way because we are told and taught that it does. That's why we have standardized spells… Hence the importance of magical schools. I don't even know why I didn't realize it, the _Compendium__ of __Magical __Education __in __Europe_ had charts about the effect magical schools had on our population and the skills wizardfolk generally possess, I just never paid too much attention to the data…"

Leia chuckled: "I could have told you that. 'The first rule to do something impossible is not to know that it is impossible'!"

Sky regarded her. That sounded like a quote. "You would know," he muttered.

Leia shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, this really explains a lot. Including why I can finally get my Charms to work, now that I've come to terms with the fact that I need to pay a lot more attention to every little detail than I ever did… but what about Transfiguration?"

"I told you, it shouldn't work like that! By all accounts, you should have retained your, let's say more blunt, way to cast after the Switch! Instead, you have to cope with my more nuanced style, which is rather unsuited to your personality."

"As unsuited as the need to be more stubborn than the universe is to you," smirked Leia.

Sky glowered. Leia's advice on how to manage Transfiguration just wasn't his cup of tea!

"Clearly," he said stiffly, "there is also a… a blood component, to magic," he winced, knowing that Leia wouldn't take kindly to the suggestion.

"I don't believe it," she said at once.

Sky sighed wearily, not at all surprised. Unfortunately, there just wasn't another explanation that he could see…

The end line was, that he needed to expand his research – or else have a brilliant epiphany on how to deal with their wonky magic, which wasn't likely to happen, unfortunately. At least they were learning to cope properly…

What he found true satisfaction in was the amazing amount of reference material on the Founders of Hogwarts. There were books upon books on them, their history, their accomplishments, their breakthroughs, even just anecdotes on their personalities… there were work journals, philosophy texts, volumes on the theory of magic and compilations of spells and potions inspired by their works… but also disquisitions on their 'true' history and opinions, novels inspired by their lives, even books that were almost hagiographies. It was going to take him months to get to the bottom of it!

And hopefully it was the same material Tom Riddle had worked from, so they would be able to come to the same conclusions…

And finally, there was a pet-project of his – one he kept carefully on the side and did not share with Leia: human anatomy. Specifically, the evolution of such during puberty.

After having a good laugh (out of earshot, of course) about Harry's 'feminine misfortune', Sky had been hit by the realization that puberty occurred to boys too, and unfortunately, he/she didn't know much about the male version of it.

He made a mental note to procure opportune books over the Christmas holidays (a browse of the Hogwarts library proved that there were no adequate source material for a research on this topic), possibly with detailed explanations and diagrams and the like. Whatever the body she was currently in was going to go through, she wanted to know and be ready for.

Boys matured later than girls, thankfully, so he should have a little time to prepare, but still, a few good anatomy manuals were a priority!

* * *

When, shortly before the end of term, he received an invitation from her parents… that is, the Grangers… to come over for Christmas, he was absolutely overjoyed.

He knew it must have been Leia's doing – she/he had probably begged and pleaded a good deal to convince them, especially since reading through the lines in their letters it was easy to see their worry about the whole Black situation – and he didn't know how he could ever express his joy and gratitude to his best friend.

A chance to spend the festivities with her parents… he was hard pressed to think of a better present.

Of course, things just couldn't go smoothly.

As soon as the list of people wishing to stay at Hogwarts had returned to McGonagall without his name on it, Sky found himself summoned to the Headmaster's office.

He was surprised to realize that he was a bit wary of facing the aged wizard. No matter the trust and admiration she/he felt for him, their choice to keep Dumbledore out of the loop of their current situation put the Headmaster, to their regret, on the list of 'potentially dangerous opponent if we don't play it right'.

Fortunately, McGonagall had been surprised but flattered when he'd asked her to be present. It might not help much concretely, but Sky felt better for her supporting presence.

Dumbledore smiled at him genially, offering a lemon drop. Sky smiled back, thinking of the running joke the tart sweets represented for all who knew and loved the aged wizard, but didn't relax.

"Harry, my dear boy," started off the elderly wizard kindly. "I called you here because it seems you're planning to go back home for Christmas? As you can imagine, this is cause for some concern…"

Sky frowned, not liking where this was going. Not – one – bit.

"With all due respect, Headmaster, sir," he said nervously. "No, I do not see how it would be anyone's concern. Besides I'm not going…" he hesitated, but spit it out "…home. I have been invited to spend the holidays at Leia's."

Dumbledore tensed, looking worried: "Ah, I am afraid that is out of the question, my dear boy. But I assure you, you will enjoy Christmas at Hogwarts immensely! Why, this year will be even…"

"Excuse me?" interrupted Sky forcefully. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Pardon me?" replied Dumbledore with polite puzzlement. He clearly wasn't used to be interrupted.

"I must have misheard," said Sky, sitting straighter and tensing further. "I could swear you just told me that I am to stay at school over Christmas, against my wishes. But surely you can't have?"

"My dear boy…" started Dumbledore placatingly.

"After all," went on Sky blithely, "to confine me to your school, outside of term, against my will would be kidnapping."

He stared at the Headmaster pointedly.

"Mr Potter!" exclaimed McGonagall from behind him. "That is an absurd accusation!"

"Yes, it is," agreed Sky. Admittedly, it was also a bit farfetched, but he/she wasn't going to pull any punches when Christmas with her parents and Harry was at stake!

"We certainly have no intention of kidnapping anyone," said Dumbledore placatingly. His eyebrows had risen in utter shock and he was peering at Sky worriedly over his half-moon spectacles. "We are merely trying to ensure your well-being over term break…"

"I mean no disrespect, Headmaster, but I fail to see how that would be your concern", he said bluntly. "You are only responsible for me during term. You have no say over what I do over the holidays, only my guardians do, and the Dursleys have already given permission for me to spend Christmas with the Grangers."

Dumbledore frowned: "I am sorry to give you and Miss Granger a disappointment, I know you are quite close…"

"You are in no position to disappoint us on this matter, sir," said Sky adamantly.

"I'm afraid I am, Mr Potter. As your guardians are Muggles, you see-"

"Something which didn't seem to matter in the least when I was left with _them_," pointed out Sky – and thoughts of Harry's treatment at the hands of _those__ three_ made his tone bitingly bitter. "It's not like anyone ever cared about their suitability, after all."

"What do you mean, Mr Potter?" asked McGonagall. Sky was pleased to hear a dangerous note to her tone.

Dumbledore looked older and wearier than he/she'd ever seen him in either life. "That is not the point at the moment. The school has guardianship over any muggle raised student, which means…"

"…that my Head of House acts _in __loco__ parenti_ during term, yes, I know," finished Sky, but he wasn't about to budge.

Besides, this was a sore point for her. She'd found out the matter of Heads of Houses having magical guardianships over their muggleborn students after she was petrified in second year and nobody so much as informed her parents. They had been out of their mind with worry at not hearing from her for so long and she'd been furious, more so when the books she'd hunted down had confirmed that it was McGonagall's right to keep them in the dark. She had carefully determined the limits of such power, however, and now she was secure in her/his rights.

"Despite this, Headmaster, neither you nor Professor McGonagall have any authority to keep me at school longer than that. I checked," he added sharply when it seemed Dumbledore would try and negate what he was saying, "and the Hogwarts Chart is quite clear on the matter. Unless we're back to the kidnapping issue?" he asked, perhaps a little snidely.

Dumbledore regarded him gravely: "Alas, Harry, nobody wishes you harm. We are not your enemies."

Sky deflated. The Headmaster was right. They weren't the enemy… but then why would they want to keep him from having a good Christmas?

"We are merely thinking of your safety… and of that of others. With Sirius Black on the loose…" Dumbledore sighed deeply.

Sky blinked. Oh, _that_ was it! Of course, he should have realized.

For a moment, he hesitated. He could understand his Headmaster's worry: they didn't know Sirius was innocent after all.

But then Dumbledore made a mistake: "I'm sure you don't want to put two innocent Muggles at risk, do you? Or put your friend Miss Granger in a difficult position? After all, if you insist on going to the Grangers, I'm afraid we will have to explain the whole truth to them."

He scowled ferociously: "The Doctors Granger know all about Black already!"

"They know?" Dumbledore seemed genuinely flabbergasted.

"Of course!" spat Sky, quite offended. "Just because they're Muggles doesn't mean they don't read the _Prophet!_ And aside for that, Leia and I told them everything. We always do."

"What?" The old Headmaster looked as if the idea was too alien for him to even comprehend. "You… you told them…"

"Yes," confirmed Sky strongly and his/her heart constricted a little. She/he recalled Harry's pained indignation over Dumbledore's secret-keeping tendencies, in their first life. It seemed her best friend had understood their mentor better than her…

"It was only fair, you understand, what with their daughter being a potential target for a mass-murderer," he blabbed, barely realizing he was being defensive. "Lavender's Grandmother has been helping them get in touch with some good ward-raisers, so they'll be protected…"

"What do you mean, a potential target?" protested McGonagall. "Miss Granger is not-"

"She's Muggleborn, isn't she?" asked Sky cuttingly. "You heard Malfoy at the beginning of November – and we all know he's not the only one… if Black believes in the same idiocy…"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I see. I am sorry you were exposed to such unjustified vitriol so soon. Prejudice is a terrible thing… But surely this means you see my point? It will be for the best if you remain safely in Hogwarts."

"I don't see why!" protested Sky. "After all, doesn't Black believe me to be in Hogwarts? The _Prophet_ reported that the Azkaban guards heard him repeat 'He's at Hogwarts… He's at Hogwarts'. Therefore it makes sense for me to leave the school, especially in a period when the security will be lax due to the festivities."

"Ah, but he would probably take that into account…" tried Dumbledore.

"I doubt it. A man on the run would have no way to keep track of the time, especially after years in prison." He said that with the utmost certainty: she'd experienced this on her own skin during her time as a fugitive, companion to the 'Undesirable N° 1'. She and Harry had been so surprised that it was Christmas when they'd arrived in Godric's Hollow… "And anyway, he would likely assume that I am with my relatives. Therefore the Granger residence is the perfect hiding place," he concluded stubbornly.

Dumbledore gazed at him with a disappointed frown. Sky stared back, a steely glint in his emerald eyes.

"As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, it is my duty to ensure your safety…" tried Dumbledore.

"Shoudn't that be Madam Bones' duty, sir? As Head of the DMLE? She's in a better position to protect me, after all. In fact, if you're so concerned about my safety, I think you should ask her for a couple of Aurors to be deployed to the task. I know she mentioned to Susan in a letter that it would be possible to arrange it…"

Dumbledore sighed, and capitulated, though he looked anything but happy.

Sky left the office as quickly as politeness would allow, joy warring with worry in her heart and positively reeling at his own daring.

Never would he/she have imagined going against Albus Dumbledore's wishes so blatantly…

Perhaps it was just another sign that she/he was no longer a child, appearances notwhitstanding.

He didn't tell Leia about his confrontation with the Headmaster; he wasn't sure how she would take it. Harry was very much Dumbledore's man, but Sky hoped that on this matter, at least, he would have sided with her/him regardless.

* * *

Christmas morning found Sky, Leia, Julia and David all gathered on the carpet in their sitting room, passing around presents under the Christmas tree where two magical trinkets, charmed by none other than the young witch and wizard currently tearing into the brightly coloured packages, played their merry tunes at intervals.

There was quiet laughter and a lot of heartfelt thanks and the spicy smell of freshly baked German Lebkuchen in the air and to Sky, it was a bittersweet atmosphere, that he nonetheless wouldn't have traded for anything.

He felt tears of joy and mingled grief pool in his eyes when he saw Leia's gift: a copy of the original _Tales __of __Beetle __the __Bard_. It would seem just a chance for a muggle raised child to read the stories his magical peers had grown up with, to everybody else, but the two of them _knew_: to them, it was so much more.

Leia's elation at receiving tickets for an actual Quidditch match was everything David could have hoped from his little surprise – and the stars in _his_ eyes were rivalling his daughter's as they bounced excitedly in their places, daydreaming of the spectacle awaiting them.

Julia was gushing over the Toothflossing Stringmints Sky had bought for her remembering how much she'd liked them the First Time, when the day took a turn for the worst.

An unexpected ring of their doorbell shattered the cosy, cheerful atmosphere, leaving them looking at each other, puzzled and worried. Nobody comes calling so early on Christmas morning with _good_ news…

* * *

Sky and Leia remained where they were while the Grangers went to see to the door, straining to hear what was going on.

Julia and David soon returned looking tense and wary and with two strangers in tow.

Strangers who wore non-descript grey robes, moved unobtrusively and did not bother hiding the wands on their forearms.

Sky and Leia exchanged a tense glance. Unspeakables, they were sure of it!

"There you are, Mr. Potter!" exclaimed the shorter of the two, with a cheer who felt so false it made Sky grit his teeth in reaction. "Allow me to wish you a Merry Christmas!"

Panic starting to stir in his belly, Sky mumbled a response, his eyes darting worriedly from one unremarkable man to the other. _Why __are __they __here? __Has__ our __situation __come __out __at __last? But how...?  
_

"We are terribly sorry to interrupt your celebrations, but I'm afraid it couldn't be helped. We are here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic – Department of Misteries, to be precise. I daresay you have heard of us?" he asked with a fake chuckle.

Sky nodded dumbly, his suspicions confirmed. _What__ could __they __possibly __want __from__ me? __Today __of __all __days?_

Julia, displaying good manners although in a chilling tone, asked politely: "What can we do for you, then?"

"Surely whatever it is could have waited one day?" added David in a considerably unfriendly tone.

"Alas, I'm afraid not! Arranging this was not easy after all."

_Arranging __what?_ wondered Sky, more and more worried.

"If you could follow us, Mr. Potter?" said the second Unspeakable. He was barely pretending to be polite and his droned tone put Sky on edge instantly.

"F-follow you?" he squeaked, his concerns mounting powerfully like the tide. _Where__ are __they __planning __to__ take __me?_

"What do you mean, follow you?" Leia stood up belligerently. "You can't just barge in here and think we'll go meekly along with whatever you think you can do!"

The two exchanged a meaningful glance.

The falsely-cheerful one said, carefully: "Ah… yes, yes. Truthseeker mentioned your… protectiveness, Miss Granger… ah... very commendable." He chuckled again and Sky clenched his fists. "However, it is also unnecessary in this instance. Ah… let me assure you, Mr. Potter is in no danger."

_Yeah,__ right,_ thought Sky, his stomach tightening.

"This is irrelevant," interjected the other Unspeakable in a sour tone. "You have no choice, Mr. Potter, so kindly cease to make things difficult."

"Now wait just a minute!" exclaimed David angrily. "That's ridiculous, what authority do you think you have…?"

Sky exchanged a helpless glance with Leia and then, falling back into the habit of her/his childhood, turned to her/his mother in a mute appeal. Julia promptly moved to his side, trying to look reassuring.

"We have the full backing of the Ministry of Magic, Muggle!" was saying the Unspeakable snottily.

"Harry is under our responsibility over the Christmas holidays and we will not, in good conscience, send him off with perfect strangers," said Julia, posing a hand on Sky's shoulder. "I'm sure you understand." Her tone, though perfectly polite, evoked images of tempered steel blades iced all over.

Sky slid closer to her, who put an arm around him protectively. Leia stepped closer on his other side, muscles rigid with tension.

The two Unspeakables looked floored, as if they hadn't even taken into consideration the possibility of opposition.

"We are from the Ministry of Magic!" protested the taller one, as if that should settle the matter. From Sky's and Leia's point of view, it was an excellent reason _not_ to do what they wanted!

"So you say," spat David. "But we have no way of knowing, do we? You could be using magic to fake your identities. What do we know of what you're capable of?"

The nastier Unspeakable's face reddened in outrage: "You have _no__ idea_ of what we can do, Muggle!"

But the other shot him a warning look. Then he stepped forth: "It does you honour, Dr. Granger, to want to protect a child in your care," he said placatingly, "but let me assure you that we are, indeed, tasked by the Ministry to escort Mr. Potter there. I'm sure we can lay your doubts to rest if we just talk this over…"

"You can't be serious!" exploded his partner. "You're going to let this mere _Muggle_ dictate…"

"Shut up!" hissed the other, but the damage had been done. Sky and Leia were both glaring at him and the Grangers were suddenly stone-faced.

After a moment of embarrassed silence, the more diplomatic Unspeakable tried to smooth things over: "Ah… we started on the wrong foot," he said in a conciliatory tone. "We merely want Mr. Potter to accompany us to the Ministry for… ah… a bureaucratic matter," he said persuasively.

Julia raised her eyebrows sceptically: "On Christmas Day?"

"Ah… it won't take more than a couple hours," entreated the Unspeakable, "and then we will leave you to your… ah… celebration."

Her par- Julia and David exchanged a glance, silently communicating. Sky felt his/her mother's hand tighten almost painfully on his shoulder, but wouldn't dream of complaining. He was grateful for her support.

"Is someone from Harry's school going to be there?" asked Julia, not bothering to hide her distrust.

The Unspeakable's eyes widened in alarm: "Ah… no… no, it's not a school matter, after all, is it?" He attempted a nervous laughter.

Julia wasn't fazed: "How would we know? You haven't bothered to say what this is all about. Harry's only contact with your world is through school, what else could it be?"

The second Unspeakable snorted disdainfully: "Your utter ignorance does not change Mr. Potter's role in our society-"

"We _are _aware of his role – a role he is too young to take on _by __far_," interjected David firmly.

The more diplomatic of the two Unspeakables stopped the other's retort with a sharp glance.

"Ah… we… would prefer not involve the Headmaster needlessly," he explained, with the light tone of someone who expected to be taken at face value.

_Not__ happening!_ thought Sky.

Beside him, he felt Leia stiffen as well and knew his best friend was thinking along the same lines. Despite all his fault, Dumbledore was still their leader. They weren't going to go against him – _and __for __the __Ministry, __too__… __as__ if __they __were __worthy __of __any __kind __of __trust!_

Sky took a steadying breath and spoke calmly, if in a biting tone: "You expect me to follow two perfect strangers who refuse to even explain what they want with me…?"

But the second Unspeakable seemed to have had enough. "Listen, boy, we don't have time to waste on your nonsense. You will do as you're told or…"

Sky's wand was in his hand before he even realized he was drawing it. Something in the man's voice was grating on his nerves badly. Leia's wand was already trained on him. Julia and David were pale and darted their worried eyes from one couple to the other.

"There is no need for this…" said the diplomatic Unspeakable, alarmed.

"You think you can take on a trained wizard, you little brats?" snarled his partner with an ugly sneer. "You'll be in a world of trouble for using magic when you're not allowed… and on a Ministry official no less…"

"How do we even know you're who you say you are?" challenged Leia defiantly. "For all we know, you might be Death Eaters!"

"Or assassins paid by Black!" added Sky, sending a mental apology to poor Sirius.

Julia let out a strangled cry and dove for the telephone. David grabbed the poker as she speed-dialled – Sky gasped, knowing it would be no use against magic and terrified that her dad might be hurt – the diplomatic Unspeakable shouted for calm – Julia frantically yelled into the receiver: "Dahlia? Dahlia, two wizards showed up and want Harry and-"

She didn't get any further because the rude Unspeakable whipped his wand out and bellowed: "_Relashio!__"_

She was thrown away by the force of it and the phone dropped on the carpet with a dull _thunk_.

David, Leia and Sky roared with rage in unison.

Before the Unspeakable could recognize what was going on, Sky's _Expelliarmus_, overcharged by his fear and fury, hit him square in the chest, wrenching his wand from him. His surprise lasted but an instant, because Leia had gone straight for the big guns and Stunned him where he stood. David had jumped the other one, who was deftly avoiding his enraged blows and desperately trying to calm him with placating words. The dentist wasn't listening: he was too busy yelling at him for daring to hurt his wife.

That was the scene Madam Bones and Lavender's Grandmother walked in, accompanied by three grim-looking Aurors.

The Head of DMLE took in the muggle man assaulting an Unspeakable, the shaken-looking muggle woman, the two pale children with wands drawn against another, stunned Unspeakable, and drew herself to her full height: "What in the world is _going__ on__ here?_"

* * *

It took some time to settle down in the kitchen, conjured cups of tea being passed around with Julia's biscuits.

Lavender's Grandmother sat with Julia, who looked terribly shaken. Sky had overheard her murmur with a wail in her voice: "Oh, Dahlia, how am I going to deal with all this?"

The older woman had patted her back comfortingly: "Now, now, Julia…"

Sky had torn himself from the scene, overwhelmed with guilt. She'd told her parents a great deal about Harry the First Time, but they'd never been so… involved, and certainly not so soon.

Madam Bones and her Aurors were interrogating the two Unspeakables and by the grim look on her face, she was not liking their answers.

Sky shook his head, amazed that the stern woman was here at all. Apparently the 'support group for muggle parents of Hogwarts children' his dad had mentioned was a lot more efficient than he'd been led to believe!

He joined Leia where she was listening intently to the adults' words. The girl hadn't put her wand away, despite the Aurors' entreaties. Then again, neither had Sky.

"So you thought kidnapping Mr. Potter from the house he is a guest in would be a smart way to go about things?" was asking Madam Bones rigidly.

The shorter Unspeakable's eyes widened comically as he gave them a good'ol'boy smile even more fake than his cheer. "Kidnapping! Ah… that is such a strong word! No, no… we just thought it would be best to… ah… deal with this little matter while most Ministry employees aren't at work… to… ah… spare Mr. Potter the commotion his presence might provoke…"

"I see. You wanted to… deal with this matter. This little bureaucratic matter, that you refused to explain to Mr. Potter's hosts."

"They're just Muggles!" protested the other one disdainfully.

Leia hissed furiously and everybody turned to watch her in various degrees of surprise.

"With an attitude like yours, I'm of half a mind to demand you show us your left arm!" she spat.

Sky gasped softly.

The Unspeakable jumped to his feet, his face reddening disturbingly: "How dare you! You little snot, I'll teach you to…"

"That is enough!" shouted Madam Bones, standing up as well and towering over the angry wizard with her imposing presence, despite being shorter than him. "Control yourself, or I will have you arrested for assault on a minor witch!"

The Unspeakable spluttered and choked on his own rage, but let his partner yank him down to sit.

"It is a good request," interjected a deep, previously unheard voice. "A reasonable request."

They turned to its source to see a tall and bulky Auror with a very serious expression and the air of a warrior about him.

"I will not let you insult me so!" shouted the rude Unspeakable jumping to his feet again, despite his partner's attempt at quieting him.

"The lady doth protest too much," commented the second Auror, a weedy-looking woman with a mean smile, that reminded Sky unpleasantly of Theodore Nott.

"How dare you!" cried the tall wizard rounding on her.

"We will discuss your attitude – and loyalties – back at Headquarters – _at __length_," intervened Madam Bones sternly. "In the meanwhile…"

"Ah… Madam Bones, I really must point out… we do have the backing of our Department… it would not do to…"

"Yes, yes! Fine! I understand!" she burst out, clearly annoyed.

Then she turned to the two children: "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid it would be best to simply go and see what it is the Department of Mysteries want with you. I am more than willing to offer myself and one of my Aurors as escorts, however."

Sky felt his stomach tightening, but it was a rather better deal than he'd feared, so he nodded, trying to formulate some thanks.

"I'm coming too." The surprising statement came from her dad: David looked unflinchingly at the various wizards and witches in his kitchen. It was apparent that he would not budge.

"Ah… I am not sure…" started the diplomatic Unspeakable, only to be interrupted by an outraged snort from his partner: "Preposterous! A Muggle in the Ministry, that's…"

"Your opinion on the matter is duly noted," cut him off Madam Bones with chilling accuracy. "Doctor Granger, as you and your wife are, indeed, the adults Mr. Potter is entrusted to, I am sure nobody could possibly object to your presence."

She glared around, daring anyone to contradict her, and the Unspeakables visibly swallowed their objections.

* * *

And so they went.

The rude Unspeakable had been none-too gently dragged away by the Auror with the deep voice and his more diplomatic companion was left to lead the way into the Ministry, his fake cheer rather dimmed by the turn of events, while Madam Bones and the weedy-looking Auror, whose name turned out to be Rathbone, brought up the rear.

Sky was indescribably grateful for her/his dad's comforting presence at his side, even though David looked almost overwhelmed by the entire experience.

The boy walked mechanically, barely registering the familiar Atrium. The only thing that kept her/his terror-filled swirling thoughts about having been busted at bay was that they'd only wanted him, and not Leia. _Surely __if __this __was __about __the __illegal__ time __travel __they __would __have __taken__ us __both?_

The few workers present gawked with undisguised curiosity at the odd group as they passed by the tacky fountain, with the jets of water gushing from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and the house-elf's ears.

_Harry's right, it's really awfully tasteless... still better than the horror Voldemort came up with, though..._

The security man weighed their wands with his mouth open and the look of someone who can't believe his eyes and ears. Sky scowled and lowered his head to hide the thrice-damned scar when he heard the excited whispers of 'Harry Potter, it's Harry Potter!…'

_How did Harry stand it? Oh right, he hated it…_

But even annoyance couldn't counter his dread… he almost felt as frightened now as she had when they'd been following Harry in his attempt to rescue Sirius…

_Merlin, it seems so long ago…_

It was perhaps strange, but the time they'd broken into the Ministry to look for Slytherin's Locket was a pale and vague memory in comparison to the richness of details with which the accursed nightly adventure was vividly replaying itself in her mind.

Sky's feeling of foreboding increased as they passed through the golden gates to the lifts he remembered all too well. He noticed in passing that the golden grilles made a lot less noise in sliding apart than the great clanking echoing in his/her memory.

The Unspeakable pressed the number nine button and the odd group stood still, each of them silent and stony-faced, as the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling.

Sky felt his/her dad discreetly clutching his shoulder and he pressed against his side as much as he dared, wishing he could hug him openly.

They stepped out into a deserted corridor that was exactly as it had been _that_ night; then suddenly they were standing in the large, circular room that had featured a lot in her nightmares, always giving her a trapped and helpless feeling.

The identical, unmarked, handle-less black doors were as creepy as in her/his memory, and so were the cool, shimmering candles whose flames burned blue, their lights multiplying in the shining marble floor where they were reflected as if in dark water.

He closed his eyes in synch with the door being shut, not wanting to experience again the dizzying, stomach-churning sensation of the circular wall rotating all around him, the shivering blue flames moving ghastly sideways, ever faster, blurring into lines in their speed, until it felt as if the floor might move, too. The mere memory made him feel queasy.

He kept his eyes firmly closed and his grip on David's arm tight until he was sure that everything had become stationary once again.

The Unspeakable seemed on the verge of saying something, but then the oppressive silence apparently got to him and he just cleared his throat self-consciously, turning to a shiny, smooth door, apparently selected at random.

Sky's thoughts flew wildly as the wizard guided them quickly through and beyond.

So many memories of this place chased each other frantically in his/her mind…

An enormous glass tank of deep green liquid, with a number of pearly-white objects drifting around lazily in it, glimmering eerily… brains, though they looked more like spoilt cauliflowers…

A larger, dimly lit room whose centre sank to form a great stone pit some twenty feet deep, stone benches running all around it and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre…

The brilliant glare of beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling lights in a room full of clocks large and small, grandfather and carriage… the busy, relentless ticking filling the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps…

And most of all… a terrifying stone archway, unsupported by any surrounding wall… ancient, cracked, crumbling… hung with a tattered black veil which was fluttering very slightly despite the chilly stillness of the air, as though it had just been touched… as though someone was just behind it… and the blind, horrifying fear that had seized her in seeing Harry so fascinated with it, looking intrigued enough to climb up on the dais and walk through it…

They saw none of that this time, however. The Unspeakable just led them quickly through unimportant corridors.

And suddenly, they were there: the place that had haunted her memory and, she was sure, Harry's too.

High as a church, cold as the light from the shivering blue flames of the candles and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs that glimmered dully.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

This had nothing to do with their Ritual.

They were here for the Prophecy!

As his jumbled thought rearranged themselves around a different kind of worry and his dread morphed into panic at the unknown that he was forcibly facing – _would__ he/she __be__ able__ to __touch__ the__ Prophecy?__ Would__ she __trigger__ its __protections?__ Had__ the__ weight __of __the __Prophecy __shifted__ to __her __shoulders now?__ Would__ it__ come__ to __light__ that__ she__ wasn__'__t__ the __real__ Harry?__ – _they walked hurriedly along the shadowy aisles of the Prophecy Hall, on and on until she spied the glimmering silver figure that had been etched indelibly in her mind _that_ night.

Row ninety-seven.

And a little way down it… a tiny, yellowing label affixed to the shelf right beneath a dully glowing glass sphere so dusty it must not have been touched for many years.

He was too short to read it, even craning his neck, but he didn't need to. He already knew that it carried the date of Trelawney's ill-fated Prophecy, the initials of the giver and receiver of the prediction, and the indication that condemned Harry to his fate: _Dark __Lord __and__ (?)Harry__ Potter._

The Unspeakable had recovered all of his enthusiasm and was now explaining with genuine excitement what it was and how retrieving it worked.

For possibly the first time in his/her life, Sky tuned out someone giving a lecture, however brief. He just stared at the sphere, his thoughts churning so fast and confusingly that he couldn't make any sense of them.

Suddenly he realized that a stepladder had appeared before him.

Everybody was looking at him expectantly, even her dad.

He climbed the few steps slowly and reluctantly. The very air seemed to hum and vibrate with suspense.

Not knowing what else to do… he reached out to the glowing sphere.

And the world exploded in pain.

* * *

Hermione awoke groggily to an indistinct world that swam blurrily before her eyes, unable to focus.

White lights, an odd, sanitized smell, vague shapes moving soothingly and orderly around her, shadows invading her view a moment and disappearing the next.

It was calming and confusing at once.

"…hear me?" a gentle but indistinct voice reached her ears. It came from far away. Why didn't whoever was calling come closer, instead of shouting so from afar?

She tried to answer, to ask, she had so many questions… but she was so tired, so tired… staying awake was too strenuous a task…

* * *

She woke again and was confused, there wasn't light and she didn't know where she was.

She tried to call out, was anybody here? But words would not come…

"…awake? Oh, goodness me…"

Yes, there was someone here, but why could she not see? She tried to discern something, squinting her tired eyes… her throat constricted and wouldn't form sounds…

"Do not try to talk," a sympathetic voice close by told her soothingly. "You are unwell still."

Unwell…

Her eyes were drooping, in was an effort to keep them open…

"…try to rest. Sleep again, it will speed up recovery…"

The rest of the sentence was lost as she fell asleep once more.

* * *

She blinked her eyes open blearily against white, harsh light.

"…finally awake! That is very good…"

It was a bright and cheery voice exclaiming over her, but her sluggish brain could not grasp everything it was saying.

"…St. Mungo's now, so worry not…"

She seized the name greedily from the confusion of sounds bombarding her and clung to it. It was important. She recognized it. She didn't know what it meant, but it held answers, she was sure of it. If only she wasn't so weary… if she could just remember…

Shadows were moving around her now and she had the strangest sensation that she'd seen them doing so before, but could not fathom where… they were strangely comforting though… calming…

A shape vanished from right beside her, then returned. She could barely paid it enough mind to notice…

St. Mungo's… St. Mungo's… there was more than that, she was sure…

"…help you…"

The voice was murmuring soothingly but she didn't listen, didn't want to lose the train of thought…

St. Mungo's… St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries! That was it! She got it!

The enormous achievement gave her a sense of profound triumph.

Someone was helping her gently to raise a little from where she was lying and bringing something cool to her lips, but she was still fully occupied with her triumphant thought.

She was in St. Mungo's… she was ill… no, she was hurt!

The satisfaction in figuring it out didn't leave any space for worry about its meaning and she let her eyes drift shut in contentment. Besides, she didn't feel any pain. That was good.

"Drink this, please, Mr. Potter," said the voice coaxingly.

Her eyes flew open of their own accord and panic flooded her: Harry! Harry was hurt too! Where was he? Was it serious?

She debated feebly.

The shadow near her was dancing in and out of focus, now being so clear she could recognize a reddish-blond woman with lime green robes and a blue potion in her hands, then losing clarity again in a dizzying blur…

Where was Harry? What had happened to them?

But the woman was pressing the transparent goblet to her lips, saying cajolingly: "Mr. Potter, this will help, please, drink it all…"

Utterly confused, Hermione allowed the woman – Healer, a random thought provided, lime green robes are worn by Healers – to help her gulp down the viscous liquid.

And then she sank into oblivion once more.

* * *

When she woke up again, it was twilight and she was a little more clear-headed.

She registered the lime-green uniform of whoever was standing next to her bed and guessed St. Mungo's.

Something was nagging at the back of her mind.

"Where's Harry?" she tried to ask, worried beyond reason though with no recollection of why.

Unfortunately, what came out of her mouth sounded more like "Gurglehoarkough?"

Confused, she tried again, but with no better results.

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder lightly: "Do not try and talk yet, Mr. Potter. It will take a few more days before you'll be able to…"

And Hermione could do nothing but let her eyes droop again…

* * *

Hermione woke feeling comfortable and well-rested, lying in bed in a completely unfamiliar room.

"Ah, good, you're awake!"

She whipped her head to the side, bringing the speaker into view. A gentle-looking witch in lime-green robes was carefully putting down a tray of Potions vials on her bedside table.

"Everybody will be most relieved you have come round at long last, they have been extremely worried."

_Extremely worried…_

"How long?" she croaked, frowning when her voice came out with a strange tone.

"Six weeks, Mr. Potter. You gave us quite the scare!"

The Healer smiled softly and then bustled about, oblivious to the shock she'd just given her patient.

* * *

_A/N: So, a few random notes… The cost of the subscription to the Daily Prophet is based on Hagrid paying five knuts for having it delivered in Philosopher's Stone; that woolly bears allow you to predict the weather is an old superstition; I chose the date of the Quidditch match based on what the Harry Potter Wiki says is an annual fixture; I don't know if English kids bring home a Christmas ornament they make themselves like Italian children do, but it's a tradition I've always loved, so I've included it anyway… oh, and the title of this chapter is shamelessly stolen from 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'._

_And here's a more understandable version of the Baron's conversation with Leia…:_

"_In all seriousness I must ask, why do you always run, Miss Granger? A well-bred girl like you!" tut-tutted the ghost with reproach._

"_Are you… scolding me because I run in the corridors?" asked Leia in disbelief._

"_Yes indeed, Miss Granger. It is a custom which does not befit your dignity and I must reprimand you!" _

_Leia gaped. He couldn't be serious!_

"_Enough of this! Come now! Let us walk together. I called upon you to apologize. I didn't mean to behave so against a knightly conduct, when you sought me where I am accustomed to hide. I was severely angry and you know, misery makes men ill-tempered. When I calmed, I was most sorry."_

"_Oh! Ah! Okay, I mean, of course! Ah… a-apology accepted, Baron… Why were you angry, though? I thought perhaps I was bothering you? That you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore…"_

"_No, fair girl. It is that loathsome scoundrel I must blame. He tried to steel my chains! As clearly he intended to shatter them to torment me… For longer years than you imagine, I have carried these chains. They mark me as penitent: the reason why I was most displeased at his evil actions. My vengeance was terrible and he was severely punished before my wrath was appeased!"_

_He stopped her gently outside McGonagall's class: "Day after day I lead my life in idleness and a companion like you is a gift I am loathe to loose. I you consent, I would gladly reward you with knowledge and tales, if such a prize is worthy in your eyes."_

"_It will be my pleasure, Baron."_

"_Thank you."_


	13. 13 As if in the eye of the storm

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine and I make no profit from this, it's just for fun! _

* * *

_A/N: Here it is - be still my heart! The next chapter of this story is done at long last! Bet you'd given up on it, huh?  
_

_A brief recap: Leia is Harry in Hermione's body, Sky is Hermione in Harry's body; they botched up a time travelling ritual around Christmas of their year on the run and have subsequently been living each other's lives since the summer of Harry's 11th birthday. They have done their best to adapt to the situation, dealing with various problems, including but not limited to: their magic throwing tantrums, how hard it is meeting people they saw die, facing puberty of the wrong gender, Sirius on the run and a Bloody Baron who enjoys being cryptic. They are working to further their main goal of defeating Voldemort, along with other goals like getting their generation ready to survive the war, promoting inter-house solidarity, locating the Horcruxes and surviving the Unspeakables' meddling, which has landed Sky in a coma for nearly six weeks._

* * *

_A/N 2: Many, many thanks to The Dain, who has taken the time to nitpick the workings of the EMA (Esoteric Magical Artefact, Merlin I love this definition :D) I've decided to employ and given me a bunch of good ideas for the second part of this chapter as cherry on top!  
_

* * *

_A… Switched Chance_

_13. As if in the eye of the storm_

If Harry was to choose the worst period of his entire life – both lives actually – it'd be the six weeks after that Christmas.

No amount of time in a dark cupboard or being berated for being born could compare. No horrid detention full of slimy ingredients and Snape's particular brand of vitriol, no lengthy days of ostracism from his peers, not even the pain-filled nightmarish vision-episodes, nor the frightening confrontations with the Death Munchers and their charming boss, could top the agony of this.

And nothing, not even the moment he'd seen Cedric's lifeless eyes stare up at him, his first witnessed cold-blooded murder, had been worse than the moment they'd told him that Sky – _Hermione!_ – was in St. Mungo's, grievously cursed. That she/he was _dying._

Watching Sirius disappear beyond the veil, hearing the Prophecy that condemned him, paled in comparison.

"We are terribly sorry, but at the moment we are unsure whether Mr. Potter will regain consciousness at all…"

A knife stab to his guts would have had less impact.

It wasn't – couldn't – be true – it couldn't! Not Hermione, not his rock, his safety blanket, his one constant. He couldn't be losing her!

Leia's panic and terrified denial were so evident that the adults forgot their own horror and worry in their concern for the distraught girl.

Lavender's Grandmother popped over to the Browns and returned with her granddaughter, in the hope that a friendly face could help, but Leia was not exactly in the mood for Lavender's typically superficial comments on how much she was grieved, how shocking a thing it all was and how excessively she herself disliked when someone was ill that she cared so much about.

All she could think of was that _Hermione_ was _dying_, and she wasn't even there with her, and there was nothing she could do, and it was probably all her fault, because after all, they'd been after _Harry_, and she was practically _killing_ _her best friend_...

She was soon hyperventilating and Julia ended up force-feeding her a chamomile infusion, and if the elderly lady who had become a close friend over the past months slipped a clear blue liquid into the cup, the worried mother wasn't inclined to begrudge her the helpful hint of witchcraft.

A frantic Minister, terrified of the all-too-likely public outcry that would ensue were it to be made known that a _Ministry Department_ – albeit an independent one – had caused life-threatening injuries to Britain's darling boy-hero, instantly dispatched tight security to protect the Boy-Who-Lived, hoping to corroborate the tall tale of an attack by the most convenient scape-goat, one Sirius Black.

Despite this, the Grangers were allowed to visit, mainly because Harry Potter had temporarily been their charge when it happened.

Seeing his own small, scrawny body laying so still on a too big hospital bed, skin as white as the sheets and breathing too light to be perceived, was too much for Leia and she was panting back sobs and trembling so hard Julia steered her firmly out of the room, where Lavender and her Grandmother awaited.

Running into Neville on the hospital staircase was only vaguely surprising. She knew that he always came to visit his parents on Christmas Day. She wasn't up to mannerly conversation with his imposing Grandmother, but Julia and Dahlia took over the duties politeness required and once the situation was explained, the elderly dowager and her dismayed grandson were nothing but sympathetic towards her distress.

Neville even patted her awkwardly on the back, saying that Harry would be okay, that everything would be alright, and Leia wished she could have forced at least a teary-eyed smile out for him.

The remaining days of holiday were a grey-scale nightmare. Lavender's Grandma was around a lot, helping Julia. Lavender too, came around pretty often, and most of the others from the Club visited at least once, but their efforts to cheer her up weren't successful, because she wasn't particularly in the mood to pay attention to their silly games. Not when the Healer's words resounded in her ears like pounding hammers.

_Unsure whether he will regain consciousness at all..._

It was so frightening a concept that Harry's brain simply refused to contemplate it.

* * *

Then something happened that just about gave Leia a heart attack.

The _Daily Prophet_ that was regularly delivered to her on behalf of the Sky Club, one morning bore a shocking title in block capitals letters: _Black kidnaps the Boy-Who-Lived!_

What?

What!

Frantically, she scanned the front page, almost tearing the paper apart in her rush to read the article.

_Yesterday the infamous Sirius Black, the murderous Death Eater that nearly two months ago escaped the supposedly inescapable __Azkaban_ _fortress, where he'd been held prisoner for his crimes for a decade, once again plunged the wizarding world into panic when he stormed St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. _

What the bloody hell was he thinking!

_We must be thankful that no casualties resulted by this madman's actions, but unfortunately, Black's target was our very own Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, age 11, who was recovered following a previous attempt on his life on the part of rogue Death Eaters._

Yeah, right... Leia felt cold dread plunge into her stomach, heavier and heavier with every printed word.

"_We think it likely that the Death Eaters have rallied around Black as their new leader," commented Minister Fudge last night. "Possibly he's trying to set himself up as the next Dark Lord."_

Suure...

_The result of this terrible assault on the top medical facility in wizarding Britain is that Harry Potter was kidnapped._

And how the hell did Sirius get past all the supposed security? There were Aurors on every floor of the damn hospital! Were they all incompetent idiots?

"_The fact that Black didn't kill him on the spot gives us some hope," is the opinion of Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "It gives us time to find him, if nothing else, though I shudder to think what the poor boy must be going through."_

Well, that, at least, was not a concern for Leia. Small mercy, though, very small.

_The Ministry is, naturally, doing everything in their power to save Mr Potter and return him to the care of the Healers, but so far there is no trace of Black and no hint as to what his purpose in kidnapping the Boy-Who-Lived might be..._

Of all the bloody, stupid, reckless, senseless, things to do! Moronic idiotic rash fool! What was he thinking! What was she saying! He wasn't thinking! He never did! Reckless moron!

Leia raged, terror rising in her for so many reasons.

She might lose Sirius, she might lose Hermione, she might lose _both_! What was her damn godfather thinking! Clearly, the world at large was conspiring with fate to plot the complete demise of her poor nerves.

At least she, unlike the rest of the wizarding world, knew that she needn't fear that Sirius might harm 'Harry' deliberately. The man loved his godson, she was positive on this. In the condition Hermione was in, however, dragging her weakened, unconscious body in a mad flight from half of the British Auror forces was nothing short of madness!

What if she got worse when there wasn't a Healer around! What if the Aurors caught up with them and she got caught in the crossfire! What if Fudge sent Dementors after them – the man was stupid enough for something like this – Sirius was weak against them and Hermione wouldn't be able to defend them and, and...

Stupid, stupid man!

And that wasn't even counting what this stunt would do to the man's record. The hopes of clearing his names were dwindling...

It was a very tense three days as Leia warred within herself about whether she should or shouldn't reveal Sirius' Animagus ability. Sky needed to be found. There was no imagining what consequences on his cursed state a mad flight around the country could have...

And mad it was.

The _Daily Prophet _reports might be untrustworthy, but the wizarding wireless network Susan had thoughtfully taught her to tune in from David's old radio kept a constant flow of news coming about the 'dreadful kidnapping' and Leia couldn't doubt the small battles reported breaking out here and there were real. It seemed Sirius was apparating randomly around England and the Aurors had been stationed in little groups all over in the hopes of catching him. Moreover, the public outrage was such that every average wand-wielder was instantly ready to fire off Stunners the moment they caught sight of the 'dangerous criminal', in the hopes of 'saving their saviour'.

Leia spent the nights in the company of vivid nightmares where some idiot got the genius idea of choosing a more lethal spell...

And right when Leia's worry reached the snapping point and she decided to confess Sirius' secret form, because she couldn't bear to risk Hermione harm like this anymore, the man was caught.

It felt like a punch in the guts – the order was to Kiss him on sight – but luckily, the resourceful man slipped through the Aurors' fingers, flabbergasting everybody. Once a Marauder, always a Marauder! Although he was forced to leave his unconscious godson behind, for the Aurors to hurry to St. Mungo's once more.

Leia collapsed in relief. Of all the possible outcomes of Sirius' reckless stunt, this was the best one. 'Harry' safely in the hands of the Healers, and Sirius safely on the run – as safely as possible anyway.

She was still going to bonk him in the head first chance she got.

Bloody, reckless, idiot!

* * *

She felt so completely drained afterwards she could barely muster the energy for things like food and showers.

Returning to Hogwarts didn't change much. She wouldn't even have gone if her parents hadn't made her.

They were extremely worried because she wasn't reacting, nothing could interest her. Books were left lying around, movies would be stared at with a dull, absent gaze, the Quidditch match she'd been so excited about hadn't elicited more than a shrug, Lavender's chatter went unanswered and, most of the time, unlistened to.

Her thoughts were almost constantly in that white room in St. Mungo's. Where Hermione was fighting death on her own.

The only thing that roused her somewhat from her depressed daze was realizing that an unfamiliar witch was sitting in Quirrel's place at the High Table.

She frowned at Dumbledore's typically lacking explanation: "Professor Quirrel has been taken ill… let us welcome Auror Nuala Doherty who will fill in for him for the rest of this schoolyear…"

She sighed morosely. She really didn't feel like investigating.

Thankfully the rumour mill was as efficient as usual and with the knowledge carried over from her previous life, she could put together a fairly good idea of what happened without too much effort.

Quirrel must have made his move on the stone during the Christmas holidays. Dumbledore must have stopped him. Good riddance – there wasn't anything to be gained for them in confronting the possessed Professor.

The over-excited reports of his bloodied and mangled body being carried off to St. Mungo's – courtesy of the Weasley Twins who had, like the First Time, remained at school over the break - lent credence to this, even if Leia was inclined to think they were exaggerating a lot. Especially since Quirrel's injuries seemed to become more gory with every recounting. Oh, well. He might not have tried to kill her or Sky this time, but he still willingly let Voldemort possess him: Leia really couldn't muster too much pity for the man.

The rest of school life held absolutely no interest for her anymore.

Her grades were slipping and she couldn't even bring herself to care. She let the Club drag her to all the usual appointments – Charms Games practice and Duelling lessons and Occlumency training – but her heart wasn't in it, and most of the time, neither was her mind.

Croaker had actually started to reprimand her with the same long-suffering and contemptuous tone he used towards the more immature members of the group, Ron and Justin above all, who were utterly bored by the practice and whined about it incessantly, if in mid-voice. However, while the boys under his disapproving gaze reddened and mumbled and buckled down, she couldn't bring herself to care.

McGonagall had already taken her aside for 'a chat' twice and Oliver was at his wit's end and loudly bemoaning her loss of enthusiasm for Quidditch.

* * *

Her worried apathy couldn't go so far as to ignore Neville's struggles however. Predictably, Lavender had gossiped like there was no tomorrow about the meeting at the hospital and his parents' fate, which she'd ferreted out of her Grandmother and was too juicy a piece of gossip to leave be.

The shy boy was having a hard time coping with the mingled pity and horror, the uncomfortable glances, the sneering comments from some of the most worthless idiots in school. He was retreating into the shell he'd been in the First Time and Leia found herself attempting to fix this.

She approached him one evening while he was working on a Transfiguration assignment in a corner of the crowded common room. Despite trusting the show the Twins were putting on with finger traps, some glue, transfigured napkins and quite a lot of glitter to shield them from anyone's notice, she cast a discreet _Muffliato_ as she took a sit across him.

"Neville… about your parents." She stopped abruptly, suddenly unsure.

Her quiet friend had an expression between panic, hurt and resignation.

She didn't know how to do this. Why had she approached the shy boy again?

She just knew that the miserable, defeated expression on Neville's face when they'd met in St. Mungo's the First Time, after Mr. Weasley had been attacked, had stayed with him through his first life as well as this one and it was _wrong._ The memory was a heavy leaden weight, loaded with the uncomfortable feeling that he should have said something back then already.

Now she had the chance, even if she hadn't quite figured out what to say yet.

Nev looked more and more uncomfortable under her thoughtful gaze.

_What would I want to hear?_ She thought and very nearly winced again. _At least I'm a girl_, she thought resignedly. _If I was a bloke, I would never live this down._

"I think your parents would be very proud of you, Nev" she said quietly and determinedly. "We are. The Sky Club, I mean. We're all happy that you're one of us."

Then she jumped up and all but ran away before it could all become too much for the boy inside her.

* * *

The effort she made for Neville shook her out of her funk a little bit. That, and stumbling upon a stack of Hermione's notes on their weirdly-behaving magic. She couldn't understand much of it at first, but it was intriguing, it was something that could actively distract her, and most of all, it was like hearing Hermione's voice prattle on this discovery or that as usual. It was comforting, no matter how odd the idea of studying being comforting was.

She was still worried out of her mind and unwilling to exert herself for most any reasons, but she put a genuine effort into understanding where Hermione's research on their situation was going and at the same time, she started forcing herself to return to some activities despite everything.

The Bloody Baron was quick to remark on this.

"It is good to see you returned to some liveliness, Miss Granger," he said one day, appearing out of nowhere next to her and scaring her half to death in the process. "The sad condition of your Mr. Potter is a terrible thing for sure, but it does never do any good to refuse life out of fear."

Leia was halfway through her grumbling response about not needing any useless platitudes when she was struck by a realization and stopped in mid-word: "Wait a moment. You're speaking English! Like, normal _nowadays_ English!"

"So I am," agreed the Baron loftily, floating alongside her as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"How come you can?" she demanded outraged. "I thought you didn't know modern English!"

"I don't exactly have much to do with my time, besides listening to students and teachers," pointed out the Bloody Baron. "So of course I've kept abreast of every change and evolution in the English language from my time to now. In fact, I could probably talk quite properly in any form of English, from Old to contemporary…"

"Then why did you make me put up with your near-incomprehensible words!" complained Leia.

"Well, everybody expects me to talk like that, don't they? Being a ghost from the time of the Founders and everything…"

Leia glared at him.

"And, it was fun," he added, completely unrepentant.

Leia rolled her eyes. _Bloody Slytherins…_

"Wait. Did you say from the Founders' time?" she asked, shocked. "Ehi! Baron!" she yelled after him, but he was already down the corridor. "You _bloody..."_

With the litany of Horcruxes whirling in her mind for the first time in months - the locket… the cup… the snake… _something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…_ - she tore after him, determined to get some answers.

Being able to float through walls was really an unfair advantage for a pursued, though! And Leia was reduced to cursing every Slytherin all the way back to the very first, along with her own dim-wittiness.

* * *

Six weeks... and then, at long last, Hedwig delivered the letter she'd been praying for.

_Harry has awakened fully and they tell us he is, thankfully, aware at last_, told her Julia's flowery cursive. _The Healers seem confident now that he'll make a full recovery in time..._

Before she even realized how rash and stupid it was, Leia was running, tearing through the corridors of Hogwarts, flying down the secret passage behind the humpbacked witch and out in Honeydukes' cellar.

Sudden realization slammed into her: she was in big trouble, if she was caught – and she was bound to be.

Alarmed, she hurriedly closed the trapdoor and hid as best she could. Trying to calm her heavy breathing, she forced herself to stay still and quiet crouched behind some big crates. Nothing but dust moved in the dim light, dancing in the only sunbeam that filtered from the open door atop the stairs. A few sounds came from the shop above: it didn't seem like she'd disturbed anyone or raised any alarm. Yet.

She winced as thoughts of the consequences of her escapade tried to catch her attention, but stubbornly shoved them away.

She had no time for fears and doubts.

Loud and clear, only one sentence ran over and over in her mind, a shout that drowned out any more sensible consideration.

Hermione was awake!

She needed to go to St. Mungo's. She needed to see for herself. Make sure her friend was alright!

She hesitated for a long moment. She was still in time to go back and avoid the risk of expulsion...

But, Hermione was awake!

She... she _needed_, needed to see her friend for herself... needed to make sure...

Before she could think twice on it, she was sneaking out to apparate to London.

* * *

The room was comfortable and quiet, the sheets cool without being cold, the smell less sickening than was common in muggle hospitals.

Hermione tossed and turned her head against the pillow, doing her best to focus.

_You are in St. Mungo's..._

Too busy trying to sort out her bewildering memories and catalogue the even more befuddling information her senses were feeding her, she barely noticed the Healer bustling about the room.

Everything was so confusing. Or confused, either worked.

She mindlessly complied when a goblet was pressed to her lips, too stunned to object, and very nearly choked onto the potion the woman was feeding her.

"Easy, easy, Mr. Potter. Just calm down and swallow. It's something to help you along the healing process," the Healer said soothingly.

Hermione stared up at her.

_Mr. Potter..._

Memories crashed down on her with the strength of a waterfall – waking up in a cupboard, _those three,_ Hedwig showing up in the sunset, watching her own body play Quidditch like a professional, being unable to transfigure a match, listening to Ron's snores in the dorm, the Sky Club...

Oblivious to the outpour of memories washing over her patient, the smiling middle-aged Healer was still patiently offering the goblet to her... no, him. She/he was _Sky_ now. She/he'd better not forget it again... she hadn't slipped, had she? They didn't seem to know... but she – no, _he_ – had better be careful now... couldn't make them suspicious...

_Where is Harry?_

"Mr. Potter?" The kind woman in lime-green robes was patiently trying to catch her/his attention, blond hair held back in a tight bun and a soothing expression on her plump face. She offered him the goblet again.

Not knowing what else to do, she/he swallowed the foul-tasting concoction.

_You are in St. Mungo's..._

She sank back onto the pillows, closing her eyes in both frustration and tiredness. Her head was filled with cotton. It didn't hurt, but it made it rather difficult to think straight. Or think at all.

If only Harry was here.

_Six weeks, Mr. Potter. You gave us quite the scare..._

She almost winced at the instinctual worry rising in her at the idea of Harry being hurt... but no... it was _her_ the Healer was talking about!

It was perhaps the hardest part of the whole situation, keeping in mind that _she_ was Harry now.

She remembered the ritual, the consequences, living as 'Sky' Potter for a few months... but it was like she had been reciting a part and now she was too tired to keep up the pretence. Yet she couldn't afford mistakes. Not if by some miracle their secret was still safe... as it seemed...

_Everybody has been extremely worried..._

She'd been out of it for six weeks! She couldn't even begin to imagine what might have happened in so much time...

She wished she could talk to Harry.

_Do not try and talk yet..._

Ridiculous. She needed to talk – there was no way she could sort out the muddled confusion in her head without help. She had to talk – to ask...

_Questions... so many questions..._

"St... Mun...go's?" Sky managed to articulate, struggling to sit up and wincing slightly at the roughness of his voice. It seemed as good a starting point as any.

The Healer gently pushed him back again: "Yes, you're in St. Mungo's, Mr. Potter – you were brought here about six weeks ago, severely cursed," she said very calmly. She had a pleasant voice – like someone's favourite Aunt. "We were starting to be seriously worried, nothing we did seemed able to wake you," she explained and smiled. "My name is Silvia Cannenta, I'm a Senior Healer here in St. Mungo's," she added.

_Severely cursed..._

"What happ'...n'd?" he/she whispered, desperately waiting for her mind to catch up with him/her. What could they have been doing? Something to do with Voldemort, most likely... she couldn't remember clearly...

_Please let Harry be alright... whatever we were doing..._

"Mr. Potter? Are you alright – do you feel any pain?" the healer asked, making him turn to face her.

"N-no, I'm fine..." He coughed a little.

"Are you up to some visitors, then, Mr. Potter? There are Ministry representatives here that are very anxious to see you. They will have all the answers to your questions."

Hermione very much doubted this, but took a deep breath and nodded firmly. Better get this out of the way. And you never knew… they might have some answers at that…

Another healer, a male this one, entered with a dark scowl. He stopped and faltered, surprised: "Oh, you're awake!"

Sky nodded mutely.

"I was just about to let the Ministry representatives know..." gushed Healer Cannenta.

The other grumbled: "He's not supposed to receive any visitors until we are absolutely certain he will have no complications!"

"Complications?" asked Sky feebly.

Healer Cannenta frowned at her colleague: "Really, Musgrove, there is no need to worry the child so..."

Healer Musgrove ignored her: "So far, you seem to be taking to the potions well enough," he told Sky briskly. "However, the curse you have been hit with is a rather obscure one. You are still under observation, and we do not want you jostled or excited."

His grim expression worried Sky.

Obscure...what in the name of blazes had they been doing?

"How...?"

"Will you stop that? You're scaring him!" protested Healer Cannenta, ignoring Sky completely.

"What is the point of lying to a patient?" scowled Healer Musgrove.

Sky tried clearing his throat: "Excuse me..."

"He is just a child!" Healer Cannenta crossed her arms. "I'm thinking of his health here!"

"Would you..._cough..._please tell me..." said Sky a little louder, despite the burn in his throat.

"You'd do better to think of his health when those Ministry fools are around!" glowered Healer Musgrove. "It'll do worse to his _health_ to bear with them that-"

"There's the Minister out there!" Healer Cannenta nearly shrieked. "You can't possibly think of barring his way...!"

"Excus-" Sky pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"We're healers, we think of our patients, not of the bloody Minister! Or we _should!_"

"That's ENOUGH!" shouted Sky at the top of his lungs. "Stop this nonsense and just TELL ME- _cough, cough..._" He couldn't finish the sentence because his throat went up in flames, forcing him to cough up blood just to have a hope of breathing.

It worked anyway, because the quarreling healers panicked and started shouting at each other about the 'damn potions' he needed to take and who should cast the 'bubblehead charm to ease the breathing'.

Sky collapsed, exhausted by their ministrations, and grimaced when their argument restarted in full ('You see he's in no condition...!' - 'The Minister himself insisted!...'), vaguely grateful that they were at least keeping it quieter: he didn't think his headache would have improved with their shouting.

Taking a deep breath in the hope of staving off the dull pain in his temples, he grasped the sleeve of the nearest healer and tugged. Sharply.

The two turned to stare at him, kind brown eyes and irritated black ones both filled with surprise.

"Can I just know who wants to see me and why?" he managed to say, swallowing convulsively to ease the burning pain in his throat.

"Oh, you poor you!" muttered Healer Cannenta with an unhappy frown, turning to rummage in a cabinet with mumbles of 'humidifier syrup'.

Healer Musgrove, on the other hand, seemed to actually take in his patient's words: "Ah yes, that would be Minister Fudge," he said and frowned a bit. "He has been waiting outside for some time now, and he is not alone, though we have told him and all the rest firmly that he cannot see you." His tone of voice said quite clearly what he thought of their stubbornness.

"I think I can take it," said Sky hoarsely; then added reluctantly: "If I don't have to talk much, at lea-_cough._" The unbidden cough that cut his sentence short made him grimace again.

"You shouldn't exert yourself, and the Minister and all the rest aren't exactly pleasant company..."

"Musgrove! How dare you...!" scolded Healer Cannenta, then softening her tone: "Here, Mr. Potter, drink this..."

"Their idiotic power plays aren't what I would recommend for a convalescent _child," _grumbled Healer Musgrove, "and I don't want them to upset him! He needs rest!" he added in a louder voice.

"I promise I will be perfectly calm," Sky whispered quickly and then frowned. "What do you mean, all the rest? _cough _Who else is there?"

"Madam Amelia Bones, unless she's been called away, some half a dozen Aurors on rotation, a bunch of Unspeakables, a Mrs. Weasley, one Doctor Granger or the other, either Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall depending on what time it is, a bunch of lazybones with nothing better to do, quite a few reporters, and who knows who else," Healer Musgrove said with a mighty scowl.

Sky felt a dull throbbing headache bloom behind his temple at the list.

_Reporters? Please, let the healer be joking about that... _

Whichever of her parents was here would be welcome and maybe Mrs. Weasley wouldn't be too bad but he wasn't sure he was up to facing the Headmaster's likely interrogation, especially since he didn't remember what they could have been doing... and it must have been serious if it was something that had involved the Aurors... and... wait!

"Unspeakables?" repeated Sky, only now registering the word: it sparked some uneasy memories in him. What had Harry and she been doing? Whatever it was... it had to do with the Unspeakables, she was sure. Had they been to the Department of Misteries? …but why...?

Suddenly Healer Musgrove's face was looming so close to his own that he recoiled. Peering deeply into his eyes, the man commented with satisfaction: "You look rather out of it, anyway. I will tell them you can't see anyone!"

"No, please, I need to-" Sky quickly injected, before the healer could do just what he intended, but he was cut off by yet another cough fit. "I have... _cough cough_... questions..." he wheezed, "...need to... know..." he forced out beyond what felt like flames in his throat.

"I'm sure the Minister will be careful of his state, if we warn him!" added Healer Cannenta, quietly but reproachfully. She handed Sky a vial of dark purple liquid and glared sternly until he gulped it down.

Sky sighed in relief as the oily syrup made the pain in his throat disappear in a wash of freshness. It left his mouth and throat feeling coated by a slimy substance, but at least it had a pleasant, fruity aftertaste.

Healer Musgrove scoffed at his colleague, but then meeting Sky's pleading eyes he hesitated and then scowled a bit darker. "Have it your way, then!"

He stalked off muttering about stubborn kiddies too foolish to listen to their betters and Sky turned to the kindly woman on the other side of his bed.

"There, there," she soothed, making him bristled a little inside. He wasn't five. "It'll be alright. I'll let them know they can come in and answer your questions, but only for a little bit, okay?"

She bustled off and a moment or two later Cornelius Caramel himself waddled into the room: a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak over a bottle-green suit.

"Ah, Harry!" he exclaimed coming towards Sky, hand outstretched, as if they were the best of friends. "Good to see you awake at last, my boy!"

He was accompanied by a tall, handsome man in the nondescript grey robes of the Unspeakables. Outside the door, Sky could barely catch sight of a pale and irritated David Granger, attempting to force his way in past two bulky red robes – Aurors, his mind supplied – backed by other indistinct silhouettes; but soon the door was closing them all out.

Fudge shook a not very impressed Sky's hand and sat down on a chair a rather starry eyed Healer Cannenta conjured for him before hurrying out, a disgruntled Healer Musgrove in tow.

"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic."

Sky nodded and the man looked ridiculously pleased. Sky refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Well, Harry," said Fudge, smiling benevolently in a way that irked Hermione, who'd seen him act as a frightened ostrich and slander her best friend rather than do his job properly, to no end. "You've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Such a terrible, terrible affair! I'd started to think... but you're awake, and that's what matters. The healers here will fix you right up!"

_And you won't be the Minister under whose watch the Boy-Who-Lived was killed_, thought Sky cynically. Aloud, he merely asked: "What happened?"

"Not to worry, not to worry!" exclaimed Fudge hurriedly. "It was just... overzealousness, you understand... and then that little spot of trouble... not that the Ministry could have... but, well, nothing untoward happened anyway, so there's no need to concern yourself!"

He beamed, looking for all the world as if he expected Sky to just grin back and say 'Of course'. His smile grew rather fixed under the cold glare he was treated to.

"I still wish to know," retorted Sky rather rigidly.

The Minister hastily covered a grimace: "Of course, of course, my boy, but... er... well, that is... er, Harry, you... you look dead on your feet... Perhaps this is not the best of times to discuss... well, well."

That, Hermione reflected dryly while observing the fidgeting Minister, was a sure way to make her worry a lot.

"Really, my dear boy... just an unfortunate... er... let us not go into all that... this is a joyous moment – long-awaited recovery – perhaps a celebration is in order, wouldn't you say?"

Sky was almost amused by the way Fudge was sweating and fumbling with his own words, but his reticence was becoming more and more worrisome. Just what had happened?

The tall Unspeakable stepped forth, drawing attention to himself. He was dark-haired and his most noticeable features were three parallel scars on the left side of his face – Hermione instinctively thought of claws – and a dark goatee.

He cut in smoothly: "With all due respect, Minister Fudge, I believe any celebration can wait until Mr. Potter has a clearer idea of the situation."

He had a nasal, grating voice, completely at odds with his pleasant figure and strangely reassuring aura.

"Now, now, Roderick, the boy doesn't need to know all that much," Fudge tried to say. Neither the attempt at a stern look nor the forced overfamiliarity made any kind of impact on the scarred man, or on Sky: the Minister's visible nervousness towards the other wizard rather detracted from the overall effect.

"We got him back, didn't we?" tried Fudge a little desperately. "No lasting effect from the, er, incident, either, so that's that, and no harm done."

Fudge smiled at Sky rather like an uncle surveying a favourite nephew, albeit a pale uncle who kept shooting nervous glances to the Unspeakable nearby, but the green-eyed boy was too busy trying to decipher the meaning of his words to pay attention.

_Got me back? Incident?_

He opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again.

The tall man turned to Sky rolling his eyes at the Minister ostentatiously: "Mr. Potter, allow me to introduce myself. I am Roderick Slinger, Deputy Director of the Department of Mysteries."

Sky blinked, somewhat surprised that the Unspeakables would have a Deputy anything; but then, they were a Department within the Ministry, so that probably made sense, once he thought of it. "How do you do?" he asked politely.

"I am here to offer you the most sincere apology on behalf of my Department."

Sky blinked. That... was not what he expected.

"It has come to my attention that some of my subordinates have taken actions that resulted in hurtful consequences for your person. Please believe that my Department has neither sanctioned those actions nor ever intended for any harm to come to you."

Sky could only stare at the overly formal speech.

"Of course not!" echoed Fudge. "The Ministry would never... Boy-Who-Lived... honestly!..."

Nobody paid him any mind.

"I also wish you to understand," went on Slinger, "that there was no ill-intent behind my subordinates' actions. They were merely trying to do what they thought was best for our world at large, in making you aware of the destiny we believed loomed over you."

Sky froze, sudden comprehension blooming in his mind. _Destiny... he's talking about the Prophecy!_

Dimly, he registered that Fudge was spluttering: "Now wait just a minute! Roderick, what nonsense is this! I thought we agreed – ludicrous lies – no, don't you dare go blabbing your idiotic ideas about... Him... returning!... I forbid it!... Don't listen to him, Harry, my boy - ludicrous nonsense-"

The Unspeakable – Slinger, was it? - didn't pay him any mind: "I can see now that it may appear as if my Department was trying to manipulate you, however..."

Fudge blubbered in the background, adding some mutterings about 'overzealousness' and 'lies' again.

Slinger went on talking, but Sky barely listened to his nasal voice: snippets of memories were flashing before his eyes, the cathedral-like Hall, the cold atmosphere, the perfectly spherical ball, and the swirling, blueish-grey mist within. And pain. Definitely a lot of pain.

_Something must have gone wrong._

"...Please accept our sincerest apology, and our heartfelt wishes for a complete recovery," concluded the Unspeakable. "That said, I would very much appreciate it if you could forget this misunderstanding ever happened."

That jolted Sky back to attention. He stared at the man incredulously. _Is he serious?_

"And why would I?" he asked slowly, trying to feel his way through the confusing statements.

The Unspeakable looked startled and discomfited; Fudge's nervousness went up another notch: "Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," the Minister said in a worried tone. "I assure you, the Ministry would never deliberately harm you. We have the utmost respect for the service you rendered to our world!"

The Unspeakable shot the Minister an annoyed and partially disgusted look.

Sky frowned awkwardly, not entirely sure of what the fuss was all about, what possible repercussions the situation could have, and too weak and dizzy still to work it out himself: "All I really want is to understand what's going on," he stated, hating how young ad trembling his voice sounded.

"Understandable! Understandable!" the Minister was quick to jump on what seemed like an olive branch of sorts. "But of course, there is no need for a child to worry... just know that the Ministry is handling all issues from-"

He was cut off, however, by a raised hand from Slinger, who had a thoughtful expression. "How much, exactly, do you know of what happened to you?" the man asked, looking at Sky keenly.

The boy frowned. "Not much," he had to admit.

A pause, then the Unspeakable nodded decisively: "Well, let's hope I can shed some light into the matter. On Christmas day, six weeks ago, two of my subordinates decided it was time to escort you to the Ministry to take care of a matter that had been weighing heavily on our minds ever since you rejoined the wizarding world."

He paused artfully, though it was ruined by Fudge's whiny grumbles about 'no sanction from the Ministry'.

Sky scowled as memories of the fright those two had given him and his family came back: "I remember," he said in clipped tones.

The Minister visibly flinched and tried to interject a hasty excuse, but the Unspeakable was for all appearances unfazed and talked right over him: "The reason my subordinates wished you to follow them to the Ministry was to retrieve a Prophecy, although this is an incorrect term of course. The Prophecy Records are merely logs made whenever prophetic words are spoken by a Seer. The misconception though is so wide-spread that we now generally refer to the Records as Prophecies..."

Sky's eyes grew wide and the pedantic specifications of the Unspeakable went completely over his head. _I was right, this is about the Prophecy! And I couldn't take it... like that Bode when Lucius Malfoy imperioused him... oh, no, they'll know I'm not Harry, what are we going to do!..._

"...when the figure finishes its recital, it disappears forevermore. It is simply impossible to repair destroyed Prophecy Records through any magical or non-magical means, which is why when a record is listened to, an Unspeakable is always present and the memory stored once more for further safekeeping..."

Slinger droned on and on and in any other situation Hermione would have been listening avidly to every little detail.

But right now her mind was occupied by overwhelming worry: _They know, they must, oh no, they've found out I'm not Harry, oh no oh no oh no, they know of the illegal time travel, we'll be locked in Azkaban before even turning of age, or worse, oh no, oh no, that's why this bloke is here, the Department of Mysteries wants to experiment upon us, oh, Merlin, we're going to be tortured until they figure out what we did and how we ended up like this and Voldemort will win and destroy the world and-_

"... Prophecy that we mistakenly believed applied to you, Mr. Potter."

_This is it! Mistakenly! They know! It's over!...Wait. He called me Mr Potter. _Sky's mind went blank for a few long seconds._ Do they know or not?_

"Mistakenly...?" he asked very cautiously.

Fudge was muttering and twisting his poor bowler hat in his hands: "Preposterous... Dumbledore said... ridiculous to think otherwise... and after that Halloween... and Dumbledore confirmed..."

Slinger frowned: "Of course, an investigation is under way, on how such an error was possible... but frankly, given the circumstances, it was an easy mistake..."

"There was no mistake!" exclaimed Fudge forcefully. "You are making a big deal out of nothing – nothing, I tell you!"

"Minister," the Unspeakable rounded on him exasperatedly. "I'm well aware of your take on the situation, but-"

"I'm ordering you to stop spreading nonsensical lies!" puffed up Fudge in indignation.

Slinger went on as if he hadn't spoken: "...it would be utter madness to wait until the Dark Lord has gained enough power to push wizarding Britain into another horrible war before-"

"He's dead! Dead, I tell you!"

"Wishful thinking," said the other dismissively. "The entire point of getting Mr. Potter to hear the Prophecy was to help him be ready so that we could prevent a war early on..."

Sky felt the beginning of an headache forming. He vaguely wondered if the Unspeakables had ever tried to warn Harry the First Time. He let it go in favour of worrying some more about whether or not they knew about the botched Ritual.

"There will be no war! He can't come back, he's dead, and Potter's the one who did it!" The Minister was clearly frantic and Sky sighed, recognising the attitude that had brought Fudge to resigning - a year too late by her reckoning.

"The very circumstance that has landed him in this hospital bed is proof that our conclusions were erroneous," pointed out Slinger irritably.

"Preposterous!"

Sky gulped, feeling his throat parched: "I... I'm not sure I understand," he managed.

The two men started, as if they'd forgotten he was there, but the Unspeakable recovered almost instantly: "The Prophecy specified that the requirements for the one who was capable to defeat the Dark Lord were the following:" he explained pedantically; "one, he was male. Two, he was to be born in the closing days of July, the year that the Prophecy was made. Three, his parents had to have defied Voldemort three times and lived to tell about it. And four, he would have a power that Voldemort was unable or unwilling to comprehend."

Sky blinked, surprised to realize that Harry had never shared the complete thing after all, merely the '_neither can live if the other survives'_ part, not that she'd noticed until now. It was just so _obvious_ that it meant Harry, she hadn't needed to know any details.

"Dumbledore said it was him! The whole wizarding world knows what Potter did!" fumbled Fudge. "Saying any different now... the repercussions... why, I'd be voted out...!"

Slinger paid him no mind, talking only to Sky: "Albus Dumbledore, who was the one who heard the Seer, assured us that, because of the way the Prophecy was worded, if more than one person was born that met the requirements, the Dark Lord himself would choose to whom it would ultimately refer. And he chose you."

Sky's hand flew to Harry's scar on his forehead of its own accord.

"Precisely," nodded the Unspeakable with satisfaction.

"But... you said there was a mistake?"

"There was no mistake!" Fudge blurted out, offended. "The Unspeakables are going on and on about things that are utterly impossible – coming back from the dead, no less – no reason to listen to them – public would rebel – you're the Boy-Who-Lived! That's that - now, if we could move on... press wants a statement..."

Sky tuned him out. He'd heard all of Fudge's little delusions before and had no interest in helping the man's career out in any way.

The Unspeakable's words were a lot more important: "Now, you must understand, Mr. Potter... the Prophecy Records are kept in the Hall of Prophecies of the Department of Mysteries and that is a... an institution, if you will, that pre-dates the existence of the Ministry itself."

Sky's eyebrows rose with his surprise.

"You have seen yourself, I believe, that the Hall keeps hundreds upon thousands of Prophecy Records. Many have already come to pass, or were never triggered, of course, but the point is, the system is... old. Very old," went on Slinger. "The Keeper of the Hall is a bureaucratic wizard who orders and maintains the Records but neither he, nor anyone else nowadays, truly knows or understands how those Records are generated."

Sky gave him an incredulous look: "You mean to say you have no idea how Prophecies even work?"

"Now, now," the Unspeakable frowned, irritated. "Of course we have _an idea_. It is our goal at the Department of Mysteries precisely to investigate these kind of matters!"

Sky gave him a flat look.

The man returned an equally flat one: "We _know_ that it is a matter of Soul Magic. We simply haven't unravelled yet, how Soul Magic works!" he sniffed, looking offended.

Sky valiantly fought the urge to roll his eyes, in favour of pinning the Unspeakable with the nastiest glower he could manage.

Slinger sighed: "I imagine you have questions," he said, at last conjuring a chair and sitting down. "Unfortunately, any and all use or even talk of Soul Magic is forbidden by law... technically... but considering the circumstances, I believe we can make a little exception."

He shot a questioning look to Fudge, who jumped like a student caught daydreaming during a lesson and quickly squeaked: "Of course! Of course! But no more nonsense!" he added grimly. "And make this quick, Roderick. I need to discuss arrangements for a press conference!"

Slinger rolled his eyes heavenwards: "Thank you, Minister. Ask away, Mr. Potter."

Sky sighed a little helplessly, not knowing where to start.

She was feeling a little irritated at herself, too. Hadn't she meant to get some good muggle books on the topic of souls? She remembered thinking of it at the zoo the previous summer. Yet here he was, still knowing next to nothing about the topic. He probably wasn't going to be able to ask sensible enough questions...

_And on a subject we so desperately need, too, the Horcruxes are Soul Magic after all..._

Why, oh, why hadn't she studied the philosophies of it like she'd planned to? So much to learn, so little time!

Still, here was an actual Unspeakable, willing, for some miraculous coincidence, to explain some of the subject matter; it wasn't likely he'd ever get a better chance than this. _I have to try and make the most of this!_

"Soul?" he asked, as a start. "You mean, the incorporeal, immortal essence of a person?"

Slinger nodded, commenting nasally: "Soul is, of course, one of the components of Magic, I expect you know this much. Your definition is, I suppose, as good as any."

"Components...?" parroted Sky, wide-eyed. _What, exactly, is he talking about?_

Slinger seemed surprised by his incomprehension: "The components of Magic... Blood... Soul... and Will. Or, Body, Spirit and Mind, if you prefer. Merlin, don't they teach you children anything anymore?" he muttered disgustedly.

"Aren't Spirit and Mind the same?" Sky asked, trying to make sense of things.

"Of course not!" scoffed the Unspeakable. "The Spirit, or Soul as I'd rather call it, is _who you are_, your individuality, the sum of your peculiar characteristics and experiences that amounts to _what is you_. The Mind, on the other hand, is the source of power and control for both your Body and your Soul."

"You can control the soul?" asked Sky bewildered.

"Insomuch as it is a choice of the Mind that determines if you are good or evil, light or dark, and so on. Therefore the Mind guides and shapes the Soul – and the Body as well, naturally."

"Which is why you can affect the Soul with magic, I suppose?" mused Sky, distracted by the swirling thoughts the new perspective was bringing forth. "The Mind can force enchantments and other magical effects on the Soul?"

_Like tearing it apart like Voldemort did_, he didn't add.

Slinger gave him a long look: "You are surprisingly mature for your age."

Hermione nearly panicked, realizing she was holding a conversation no eleven-years-old should have been able to follow. She looked up guiltily into those piercing eyes that seemed to look straight through her... what was he thinking? What did he suspect?

But the man gave her a rather sudden grin, which twisted his scars in a rather scary way if Sky was to be honest, and blithely exclaimed something inane about 'Truthseeker warning him the Potter boy was special'.

Sky winced.

Not only did the cheer feel fake, as if the Unspeakable was concealing his suspiciousness for the time being, probably to lull him into a false sense of security; but he now had confirmation that what was likely the whole Department of Mysteries was keeping an eye on him!

"Your guess is correct," continued Slinger as if the moment hadn't happened. "That is how magic creates the Prophecy Records, tuning them to the Souls of those involved."

"How?" Sky couldn't help but ask, fascinated.

"That is still under study," the man answered almost pompously. "And a matter of unending debates," he added in mid-voice.

Seeing that Sky's interest wasn't abating, Slinger added reluctantly: "We have confirmed that Souls are, without a doubt, unique and that the magic sustaining the Hall of Prophecies has a way of... identifying them."

"Identifying, like the Ministry traces underage magic?" asked Sky, not particularly enthralled by the idea. _Considering how many mistakes that system does..._

"Not... quite. Although the Ministry can detect the use of magic near an underage witch or wizard, they cannot determine who performed it; this is practically the opposite. The system recognizes _who_ is involved even if it knows nothing else – not the wheres, not the whens..."

Sky stared at him, perplexed: "What do you mean? Don't, you know, the Seers tell...?" Usually in rather cryptic ways, but still. She'd always just thought it was a matter of registering the wording of their Prophecies at the Ministry, rather like magical contracts.

"Well, no, of course not. True Seers don't actually have any control, or in many cases even awareness, of their gift," explained Slinger. "Divination is generally classed as External Magic for just that reason. It happens without actual input from the Seers, but rather independently: the Seers are merely very attuned to it - sometimes through the help of some focus like crystal balls and the like..."

Sky blinked: "External magic?"

"Ah, you haven't yet encountered the classification my Department uses, of course, you're far too young – it isn't even in the Hogwarts curriculum after all – just let it go, for now. The point is that the magic that imbues the Hall of Prophecies actually only reacts when its sensor picks up a certain kind of magic – namely, Prophetic Magic. Let's leave it at that."

"So the Divination class Hogwarts offers...?"

"...is useless, yes" admitted the Unspeakable. Sky smirked, feeling vindicated, and the man quickly added: "But traditional."

_Of course._

"And Prophetic Magic can be sensed?" asked Sky, letting the very... wizardly answer go.

"Correct. Or rather, any interaction between a receptive subject, what we call a Seer, and this kind of magic, is. Though the Hall of Prophecies is the only institution with the ability to do so – any attempt at recreating the effect has so far failed."

"That makes some sort of sense," said Sky, wishing his head didn't feel so dizzy still. This was interesting. "But it doesn't explain the whole 'identifying' part. I mean, I get that a Seer can be picked up, but what about the subject of the Prophecy? How can their Soul be identified?"

Slinger stroked his goatee pensively: "I suppose it's more like... 'measuring' the Souls, possibly. At least if you hold with the nonsense those who study Ancient Egyptian magic insist on. Though to be truthful, the magicians of Middle Kingdom Egypt are to this day the ones who have explored the potential of Soul Magic to the furthest extent, so perhaps..."

"Would that be measuring like in the tales of the god Anubis and the Weighing Of The Hearts, or measuring in a scientific sense, like recognizing wavelengths, for instance?"

Slinger looked almost shocked at Sky's zealous tone, but there was no stopping Hermione Granger when she was exploring a new subject: a different body didn't change that simple fact.

"Wave...lengths?" asked the Unspeakable feebly.

Sky shot him an impatient look: "Why is it that no wizard ever bothers learning a little honest physics? Wavelength is a measure of the distance over which the shape of the wave repeats itself. It can be used for all wave-like phenomena, water waves, sound waves, and of course light..."

"Ah!" realized Slinger. "You are talking of the Leavitt unit."

"The... what?" Sky was momentarily derailed.

"The measuring standard invented by Lucrecia Leavitt – marvellous witch, by all accounts, albeit rather weird; worked as a researcher for my Department for over fifteen years, though it was before my time – she created a unit to determine with some measure of precision the colour of spells and its relation to their nature and potency. Eccentric to say the least, but still. "

Sky blinked. _Huh... what do you know, they do have a Science of Magic! Even if they think it's weird._

He determinedly pushed away every thought of begging to join the researchers Slinger mentioned (_Get a grip, Granger! Winning the war first, becoming a scientist witch later!_) and nodded sharply: "Yes, something like that."

"An interesting way of looking at the problem..." mused the Unspeakable, appearing intrigued.

A knock at the door interrupted them and a moment later Amelia Bones was making her entrance.

"A-amelia!" squeaked Fudge, jumping to his feet. Sky started: he'd practically forgot the Minister was even in the room.

"Minister," the Head of DMLE nodded coolly to the portly little man. Then she turned to Sky with a small smile: "Mr. Potter, I am so glad to see you awake at last. You had us all worried."

"It is good to see you, Madam Bones. How is Susan?"

The woman's smile widened: "Shouldn't I be the one to ask how you are? It isn't my niece who's spent six weeks in a hospital bed!"

"Mr. Slinger was just explaining how I ended up here."

Her sharp eyes zeroed on the Unspeakable. "What a fortunate coincidence. I am _very_ interested in hearing this."

The man's grimace spoke loud and clear of how distasteful he found the idea of explaining anything to the Head of DMLE.

Sky didn't feel particularly sympathetic. "So... how did I end up in St. Mungo's?" he prodded.

Slinger gave a put-upon sigh: "As I was saying, the magic woven into the Hall of Prophecies can detect any instance of Prophetic Magic and registers it. The Records must then be correctly assorted and stored on the shelves of the Hall of Prophecies; after that my Department takes care of placing anti-theft spells upon each and every one of them. These spells root themselves in whatever trace the Soul Magic uses and then tie themselves to the unique... wavelengths, to use your terminology, of the Souls involved. Thus allowing only those to whom the Prophecies refer to, the authority to remove the physical Records from their places."

Madam Bones took a seat on a conjured chair, listening intently, while the Minister huffed in the background.

"How can you do all that if you don't know how it works?" asked Sky, genuinely curious.

"We at the Department of Mysteries are very well versed in the art of discovering the magical principles of a device, artefact or spell system through the analysis of its structure, function and operation," Slinger said grandiosely. "Our researchers are often required to deduce design decisions from end effects with little or no additional knowledge about the procedures involved in the original creation, for which information is quite commonly incorrect, incomplete or otherwise unavailable."

_Reverse engineering? _thought Sky amused; _I don't even know why I'm surprised._

Aloud he said: "In other words, you take stuff apart to try and figure out how to do the same thing without bothering with understanding the original?"

The man scowled at him; Madam Bones stifled a chuckle.

Sky shook his head lightly: "So the spells thought I was a thief, is that what you're saying?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And the security attacked Mr. Potter," concluded Madam Bones accusingly. "Not that I don't appreciate the efforts of your Department to keep the Prophecies safe, Mr. Slinger, but please, do tell: how is it possible that a _sanctioned_ listening, authorized – nay, _encouraged_ – by members of the Department, could turn so lethal?"

"Regrettably, Madam Bones, our understanding of the magic woven into the Hall of Prophecies is not as extensive as we would like to think," said the Unspeakable with great dignity.

"Are you trying to get me to believe that the Unspeakables didn't know what would happen? Yet risked a child anyway?"

"My subordinates had no way of imagining such dire consequences would come into play," scowled the man, eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Slinger; Mr. Potter being who he is, and considering his story, past and recent, we at the DMLE have no choice but to take into consideration the possibility that it was a deliberate set-up, an attack on-"

"Come now, Amelia!" Fudge chuckled nervously. "What nonsense you're speaking! None in the Ministry would..."

"It was a mistake – merely a mistake." The Unspeakable's clenched teeth were pulling at his scars, Sky noticed, as much as his grin had.

"A mistake that nearly cost an underage wizard his life," said Madam Bones grimly.

"Amelia!" squeaked Fudge, completely overlooked. "You're putting the Ministry in a bad light...!"

"The magical security is designed to induce madness _temporarily._ It wasn't supposed to put him in a coma," replied Slinger irritated.

"Then what happened?" asked Sky, worried that maybe the Ritual had had an unexplainable effect.

"According to the healers, it's because you are too young," admitted the man.

"And you couldn't have known this?" grumbled Madam Bones.

"We were never in a position to discover age would have an impact..."

"You tried an unknown magic on a child!" cried out the Madam, outraged. "I should have you up on charges!"

"What do you mean, too young?" blurted out Sky, confused.

Slinger sneered at Madam Bones while answering: "A mind as young as yours couldn't cope with the implanted suggestions that should have induced a mixture of memory loss and detachment from reality: instead, it rejected the spell thoroughly and chose to shut down instead. Oh, and the security enchantment is laced with a tongue-tying curse, to avoid whatever might have been heard to be spread: that is, the healers believe, the source of the problems with your throat."

Sky looked at him uncertainly. Her _mind_ wasn't as young as that. It seemed more and more like any explanations he was getting were mere guesswork.

"None of this justifies why it happened at all," pointed out Madam Bones sternly. "You should never have risked it!"

"As I said," replied Slinger rigidly, "it was a mistake."

"It is always a mistake, Mr Slinger, but the fact remains that this child – this _child! -_ hasn't been in our world more than a few months and yet he has been attacked so many times already to put some of my Aurors to shame!"

As interesting as an investigation on Harry's hazardous life could be, however, Sky had a more pressing matter to settle, preferably before the worry drove him insane. _Do they know or not?_

"If the Prophecy thought that I was a thief, does that mean that it wasn't me after all?" he said, voice trembling because he was skirting very dangerous territory now. He didn't actually want to suggest there might be something amiss with his/her identity! "That... the Prophecy doesn't talk about... me?"

"Apparently," admitted Slinger.

"Yet you took it for granted and forced a _child_ to risk madness with no way of knowing for sure what the result would be!" exclaimed Madam Bones indignantly.

"Well it gave us a lot of new data to analyse," retorted the Unspeakable sarcastically.

"Amelia, Roderick, please!" interjected a very anxious Fudge. "This isn't helping, you know! You must understand, Harry," he turned to Sky, fretting: "Dumbledore was so sure... and of course, we all thought..."

"Yes, Dumbledore was adamant that it had to be you," scowled Slinger. "He demanded you be checked for all sorts of disguises when we brought you here, claiming that if the Prophecy had rejected you, you simply couldn't be the real Harry Potter..."

Fear gripped Hermione. This was it, Dumbledore knew, they'd found out...

"I would like to ask why Albus Dumbledore's word carried more weight than that of the Unspeakables that are supposedly in charge of the Hall of Prophecies," grumbled Madam Bones, "but considering the incompetence you're displaying I can imagine while you trust him over your own judgement."

"Madam!" hissed Slinger furiously, reminding Sky strongly of a cat with his ears flattened against the skull. "I'll thank you to keep your unwarranted insults to yourself."

"Unwarranted, hah! You just admitted you have no idea how that magic works and need Albus Dumbledore to hold you hands!"

"We relied on him because he was the one who heard the Porphecy in the first place!" retorted Slinger.

"Why would that give him a better insight in the matter, though?" wondered Sky aloud. "Wouldn't anyone who listens to the Record have the same chance at understanding it?"

Slinger blinked, perplexed, then his expression cleared: "Ah, you are under the impression that the Record automatically produces the evanescent recital I described earlier. My apologies – I should have clarified the matter better. The memory contained in a Prophecy Orb is donated by the witnesses whose magical signature has been picked up in the vicinity of the Seer who triggered the creation of a Record. The Record itself merely registers the Soul or Souls the Prophecy is tied to."

"How does that work, anyway?" interjected Sky wonderingly, his agile mind unable to accept an inconsistency like that. "If the magic is able to identify Souls and tie them to names, how could it get me wrong?"

"No, no," Slinger shook his head. "It didn't get you wrong – _we_ did."

"But..."

"In the early 1820s the then Head of my Department decided that a new classification system had to be implemented for the Records. A set of spells was woven around the existing net, that activates instantly whenever the sensor spell for Prophetic Magic is triggered and registers any wand signature in the area."

Sky frowned, but Madam Bones interjected quickly: "Similarly to how the underage magic detectors pick up wand signatures around the child in question, so that the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad doesn't need to be dispatched in situations where the parents have it under control."

Sky's frown didn't disappear, the memory of Harry's difficulties with the system fresh in his mind.

"We might not know much about Soul Magic," continued Slinger, indifferent to the child's irritation, "but the detection of wand signatures is a common practice. Any wand sold by a legal storeowner is registered at the Ministry. Therefore we can compare whatever magical signature is picked up in the area and match it with the ones listed at the Ministry. That is, in fact, part of the duties of the Keeper of the Records and the reason why the orbs are labelled with the names of those present when the Prophecy is made. The witnesses are then asked to donate a memory of the Prophecy that is attached to the orb. See?"

"Wouldn't it be better to record the wording of the Prophecy directly?" asked Sky, mind flowing to Slughorn's tampering with his own memory.

"I expect most wards would actively interfere with such a violation of privacy, Mr. Potter," replied Madam Bones kindly. "Especially the old ones on Family Manors and such."

Sky nodded and Slinger nodded along: "Precisely. It would be impossible for the system to work with any kind of reliability. No... the only thing the Records save is the Soul's 'wavelength'," he dipped his head in Sky's direction, acknowledging the term, "of whomever is the subject of a Prophecy."

"Then why didn't you know whose soul it was?" asked Madam Bones crossing her arms defiantly.

"We have no way of note down Soul signatures the way we do with wand signatures! Therefore obviously we have no way of matching them with an existing database. Identification is simply beyond our means."

"Which just proves you shouldn't play with that magic!" said Madam Bones crossly.

"Amelia, be reasonable," piped up Fudge who seemed to have been jolted out of a bored daydream by the loud tones. "Clearly there was no real reason to go through with this..."

"Minister, just because you don't believe-"

"...but," Fudge raised his voice, talking over the Unspeakable, "you must recognize that it couldn't have been expected... Dumbledore said..."

"Yes, well, Albus Dumbledore is clearly less infallible than he would like us to believe," grumbled Madam Bones. "Why was he so determined that Mr. Potter could not be himself?"

Sky bristled a little. Dumbledore had never, in her experience, claimed to be infallible! The Madam's question, however, was seriously worrisome.

"Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that I'm not...?" he asked leadingly, full of dread.

It was Slinger who answered: "He seemed to be sure that you carried... but no, never mind. That isn't something a boy your age should hear. Besides it isn't relevant at all, especially since he was wrong after all, though we had to do all sorts of tests to determine as much."

Sky was lost and more and more worried: "Tests?" he gulped feebly.

"Well, Dumbledore claimed... something, that needed to be investigated thoroughly; as did your identity – these kind of matters are very serious, Mr. Potter, very serious indeed," the Unspeakable nodded sagely.

"Try and understand, Mr. Potter," intervened Madam Bones, who clearly was more used to dealing with children. Or Muggleborns. Or both. "In the wizarding world, so much depends on bloodlines: inheritances, titles, privileges, family magic... the list could go on. Identity Theft, or as the old laws indicate it, Line Theft, is a very serious crime."

Sky flinched internally. _One more reason to end up in Azkaban for life, great, as if time-travelling wasn't enough!_

"Any small doubt about someone's right to claim a certain relation could lead to a number of problems and difficulties. Therefore any and all accusations of this kind are immediately and thoroughly investigated."

"Normally all it would require would be for the Head of the Family in question to cast a Line Charm, the kind you'd use to create a Family Tapestry to give you an idea, and that would be that, but seeing as there isn't another Potter alive, it gets complicated," interjected Slinger, grinning ferally.

Sky shot him an unreadable look: "Well what do Muggleborns do in this cases? There should be a protocol that doesn't rely on magic for them, right? Seeing as their families wouldn't be able to cast anything."

There was a long silence.

"M-muggleborns?" squeaked Fudge, as if he'd never heard the word.

Once again, it was Madam Bones who saved the day: "Muggleborns do not have any claim on previously existing inheritances and the like, Mr. Potter, so the matter had never risen before," she explained. "Problems such as this usually arise in the case of half-bloods, or more rarely the offspring of squibs, and the magical side of the family is generally able to sort everything out."

Sky rolled his eyes and didn't bother being discreet about it.

"Yes, well," Fudge cleared his throat, still looking at Sky as if he feared the child would start speak gibberish any moment now. "The point is that you, my dear boy, are not a... a M-muggleborn," he finished almost stammering. Then he recovered his pompousness: "So it was imperative to ascertain your identity! The Ministry and Gringotts were joined in our determination to shed light on this matter as soon as feasible!"

"The problem, of course, was that we were dealing with Soul Magic, in that it was the spells tied to the Prophecy Record that cast doubt upon your identity," explained Slinger. "Being generally forbidden, not to mention rather obscure, it doesn't represent a viable option."

Sky frowned, but Madam Bones explained quickly: "On one hand, it is too dangerous." She shot a glare at the Unspeakable, wordlessly conveying what she thought of the Department of Mysteries involving a child with such a matter. "On the other hand, it is open to protestations – it would hardly stand as acceptable in a legal setting."

"Oh," was Sky's lame comment.

"It was a real problem, Harry, a real problem!" muttered Fudge, trying and failing to look sympathetic. Sky didn't answer.

"Then one of the Muggleborn Healers came up with the idea of testing your identity using bodily fluids," continued Slinger, who looked half-amused and half-disgusted by the idea. "I... don't really know how to explain this... it's a rather odd muggle procedure called, if I'm not mistaken, a DNA test and..."

"I'm familiar with the concept," nodded Sky, to the flabbergasted surprise of all presents. He rolled his eyes after a moment: "Muggle raised here, remember?" he muttered dryly. "It's pretty well-known, at least in general terms."

No need to let anyone know she'd researched it as thoroughly as she ever did anything else... though she didn't see anything wrong with that. It was an interesting idea. She was curious to hear the wizarding interpretation of the procedure, however.

"...Right," an embarrassed cough, as the Unspeakable tried to conceal his astonishment.

"Yes, well," intervened a flustered Minister. "Of course, we couldn't use such a _muggle_ method... completely uncouth, you understand..."

Sky resisted the urge to sneer bitterly – barely. _Of course..._

"We did, however, come up with a suitable test – the Minister himself authorized it," said Slinger. He was back to stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "Rather experimental - it's Blood Magic after all, hardly something to be used lightly – it was an interesting challenge to manage it – luckily we could make use of the, huh, delay that-"

"Yes, yes," Fudge cut him off a little shrilly. "Forget the details, Roderick, just get on with it."

_What is he talking about...? _A shiver ran down Sky's back. _And what have they found out...?_

"The point, Mr. Potter," said Madam Bones very calmly, "is that your blood was tested against a number of artefacts that the Ministry required Gringotts to relinquish from the Potter Vault and-"

"We fine-tuned the test to tell us exactly what your relation to the family was and-" interjected Slinger, who clearly wanted to show off his Department's work.

"_And,"_ Madam Bones glared him into silence as she went on, stressing the conclusions she was coming to, "there is no longer any possible doubt. You are, indeed, Harry Potter."

Sky blinked, shocked.

_I am? _

"However," and here Slinger shot such a glare Fudge's way that the Minister paled and shut his mouth, terrified, before voicing his protests, "you are not the Chosen One destined by Fate to defeat the Dark Lord," he added smugly.

In the ringing silence that followed this rather dramatic proclamation, Sky's swirling mind could grasp only one comment, and he blurted it out emphatically: "Good."

It was so heartfelt, the adults gaped.

Sky shrugged slightly at the startled expressions all around him. What, did they really expect an eleven-years-old child to _want_ to face an insanely powerful madman?

Not that he won't do it... him and Leia, they wouldn't, couldn't, possibly, not do anything, but to avoid the petty pressure of expectations from the world at large was... well. Good.

The door of his room opened once more, startling them all badly.

Professor McGonagall was there, a very anxious David Granger just a step behind, and she was glaring at Healer Musgrove with her sternest, lip-thinned scowl: "Mr. Musgrove, you have made it abundantly clear that your stubbornness has not diminished in the past two decades, but I will not repeat myself. I am Mr. Potter's _de facto_ guardian for the duration of the school year and I _will _see him. _Now._"

She strode determinedly in the room and acknowledged the presents: "Amelia, good to see you; Mr. Slinger, it has been a while; Minister," she offered him a terse nod, then she was suddenly at Sky's side: "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?"

Sky smiled genuinely at her, touched by the concern his Head of House wasn't trying to hide: "Confused," he summed up.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Bones shared a chuckle while Slinger harrumphed.

David Granger came up on the other side of his bed: "You had us all so worried," he smiled, but he was pale and drawn.

The relief his simple, beloved presence brought made Sky feel weak again. "Thank you for being here, Da- David," he stuttered, remembering his manners.

Her dad smiled: "No problem at all. Julia and I will be here for as long as you need us."

Sky smiled back, then it vanished in a frown: "_How _long will that be, though? How long will I be stuck here?" he asked, making Professor McGonagall roll her eyes and mutter something about 'like fathers, like sons'.

"At least two more weeks," snapped a disgruntled Healer Musgrove from somewhere near the door.

"That long!" was his dismayed cry.

"They want to be sure there will be no complications," explained her dad calmly. "Be patient."

"But can't I stay in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts?" _Where I can see Harry_, she didn't add aloud.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," said Madam Bones sympathetically. "There are a lot of matters that need going over, for one, and unfortunately, the Headmaster refuses to let Auror guards in the school, so..."

"Auror guards?" repeated Sky, bewildered.

"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a hearty laugh. "No, no... best we know where you are... I mean..."

Unless Harry's eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly looking very awkward – and everyone was glaring at the Minister.

"What are you all talking about?" he asked warily. _What else could possibly have happened?_

"Amelia, my dear, I mean no offence, but Mr. Potter looks quite done in. Perhaps we could continue this some other time?" cut in Professor McGonagall.

"I don't want to be kept in the dark. I'm not a little child!" exclaimed Sky darkly.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter," retorted his Head of House, "nothing that is left to be discussed is so pressing that it can't wait until you're feeling better!"

"Quite right," Madam Bones chuckled openly: "I'll take that as my cue to leave, then. I'll be back in a couple days and we'll talk some more, Mr. Potter," she smiled and left.

"We'll tell you soon, but for the time being, don't worry, alright?" David Granger tried to console him, stroking his hair gently.

"Can I really not go back to Hogwarts?" Sky pleaded with McGonagall. _I really, really need to see Harry._

"Absolutely not!" exploded Healer Musgrove. "Bad enough we can't keep your room quiet here, I can only dread what a bunch of overeager teenagers determined to visit you would mean!"

Sky rolled his eyes.

"I shall take my leave as well," said Slinger. His piercing eyes met Sky's one last time, keen and acute. "We'll see each other again, Mr. Potter."

Sky shivered, wishing that didn't sound so ominous.

A lengthy silence followed the man's departure. Professor McGonagall and David Granger murmured quietly with Healer Musgrove, questioning him on Sky's recovery. Fudge seemed awkward and nervous; Sky simply had too much to process.

"Just what else happened while I was out of it?" he muttered to himself, frowning.

"Nothing! Nothing of import!" Fudge squeaked. Then he cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak. "It is no worth worrying about, Harry... We simply have to take into account... in the present climate... Well..."

The other three had interrupted their conversation and were staring at him.

"Well, I just... press conference to organize, you see..."

"Cornelius," McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him in her most forbidding expression. "I do hope you're not intending to drag a sick child around, against his healers' wishes, to parade him in front of the press and make yourself look better."

Confronted with her icy tone, Fudge could hardly admit that that had been precisely his idea. He mumbled something about 'needing to reassure the public', but McGonagall upped her glare a notch and he hastily changed his mutterings to well-wishes for Harry's health. Then he grabbed his pinstriped cloak: "Well, well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know..." he said quickly, and with a last strained smile and shake of Sky's hand, Fudge left the room.

Sky stared after him. There was something extremely odd going on.

Healer Musgrove decided that he'd had enough at this point and shooed off the two adults left so that he could perform some 'checks and tests' on his patient.

David Granger promised to return as soon as he could and to bring back Julia as well. Sky smiled brilliantly at the thought of seeing his mum. Professor McGonagall squeezed his shoulder one last time and then Sky was alone with a scowling healer muttering to himself.

With a sigh, the boy fell back onto the pillows. He felt too exhausted for words. The healer left, still grumbling about 'processing the results', and there was blissful silence in the room.

* * *

Sky dozed off, for how long, he couldn't tell.

After a while he became aware of the door being slowly and carefully opened. He kept his eyes closed: his body felt lethargic, his mouth dry and his throat burned slightly again.

A mere whisper reached him: "Hermione?"

Sky's eyes flew open and he shot up from the pillows: "Harry?" he whispered back, full of hope and dread, looking around disoriented.

"Here!" Kind brown eyes met his, and the relief in them was so powerful they were filling with tears. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione, I thought... I thought...!"

"I'm fine," Sky said automatically and then winced, and laughed. How many times had she berated Harry for saying the exact same thing after a life-threatening misadventure?

Leia chuckled through her suddenly flowing tears, looking vindicated and exasperated all at once – and above all, desperately happy.

She climbed onto the bed and Sky forced himself to relax a bit and leaned back, letting out a breath.

Everything still felt rather like a dream, or maybe a nightmare about to turn bad, but her best friend was here and that was a comfort beyond words.

Soon they were discussing the unbelievable amount of information Sky had got from his visitors and how much of it could be trusted or believed. Then Leia started filling him in on everything he'd missed, including Sirius' hot-headed stunt.

"He did _what?"_

"Kidnapped you," repeated Leia with a rueful smile. "I know. Recklessly moronic."

"Apt description," murmured Sky, stunned. No wonder Fudge had been so nervous. And it certainly explained the need for Auror guards.

"Wait, doesn't this help him out? I mean, he didn't kill me, did he? so..."

Leia shook her head ruefully: "Madam Bones believes his insanity has degenerated into wanting to make you into the next Dark Lord."

Sky snorted. "How did she work that one out?"

"Because Sirius was going on about being his duty to raise you. That is, me. That is..."

"Yes, yes, I get it. So they thought he meant raising me as dark?"

"Pretty much, yeah. That also accounts for his not killing you," admitted Leia.

Sky sighed. "People really only believe what they want to believe, huh?"

Leia smiled sympathetically.

"All right, what else?"

"Well... Quirrelmort is out of the picture."

"What!"

"Huh-uh."

As Leia quickly recounted what she'd pieced together about Quirrel's demise, Sky grew more and more concerned.

"Leia... did he make his attempt at the Stone before or after the whole Am-I-the-real-Harry-Potter mess came out?"

"To be honest, this is the first I've heard of that particular problem. I think they kept it all as quiet as possible."

"That's... not good."

Leia frowned: "Why? What does it matter?"

"It matters, Harry, it matters a lot!"

"Leia," corrected the girl absently. "and I don't see why."

"Just think!" hissed Sky, alarmed. "The problem with the Prophecy isn't the thing itself, but how it's interpreted! That's what's dangerous: now Dumbledore and the Ministry will likely leave us alone – try and find the 'real' Chosen One, or something, I guess: but if Voldemort doesn't know, he will still think you are – that is, I am – the one he needs to kill..."

"Oh," sighed Leia. "It's just never over, is it?"


End file.
